Mother, May I?

Today, one of the games Annabelle and I played was “Mother, May I?” I guess the correct thing to have said was, “One of the games I played with Annabelle watching was “Mother, May I?”

This is a game where the child/children ask “Mother, May I?” when asking to move so many steps forward. It’s a simple enough game I guess along the same lines of Simon says in another form, maybe?

Anyway, rather than using real people we enlisted Annabelle’s animal critters and some of her little people, combined, whatever was convenient. I adlibbed the game with her watching intently as each little critter asked permission to move forward until one little doggie had a problem with manners and developed an attitude because he wasn’t up next to or ahead of his critter friend next to him. He became quite whiny and just over-all obnoxious until “Mother” finally had to teach him a lesson by refusing to allow him his request. Which brought down an instant meltdown!

I was really into this game when I happened to look over at my sweet baby girl and saw the most pitiful look on that normally sweet little face. She had become that poor little Doggie. She understood exactly how he felt. She was beginning to form tears in her own eyes for that poor little mistreated Doggie.

Oops! Maybe I had gotten a little too melodramatic with her? I broke into laughter and when she took her eyes off of poor doggie and looked at my face, she began to laugh, too. I hope she knew it was only a game. I think she figured it out.

Oh, did I mention, we played this game out on one of her new-found loves...an empty diaper box. That diaper box has been the basis of parking spots for her school bus, mini-vans, and even a secluded area to protect her camping friends from the noise of the city.

Today after we stopped our outrageous game of “Mother, May I?” we turned that diaper box into a finely set table with the most luxurious of china and fanciest silverware, loaded with the most scrumptious desserts you could ask for. We had beautifully decorated cupcakes; multi-colored ice cream cones three and four scoops high; chocolate and strawberry covered donuts; and the obligatory awful tasting vegetables and fruits we all must endure before we can move on to these beautiful desserts. Oh, and one of those beautiful cupcakes had managed to walk right out of the muffin tin and Annabelle was sure it was on her Mommy and Daddy’s bed. A search didn’t show it was there, but then we did have to make it quick. Grandmomma doesn’t mess with a wild animal who had escaped from the jungle (that would be the wild undomesticated cat she calls Jezebel). That’s really NO exaggeration! She is truly wild, at least to me. That cupcake will show up. It’s probably hiding under the sheets and Mommy or Daddy will sleep with a cupcake with a round shape stuck to their foot.

It takes a lot to entertain her and sometimes it taxes my poor brain to come up with something else. One thing is for sure. I will not be held responsible for any psychiatric help this child might need in the future. It’s all her fault I have to resort to all these silly games I play with her. But I wouldn’t trade the time spent with her for anything.

Who knows how crazy I really was in my childhood. After all, I was raised practically an only child…the closest in age to me was my brother who is six years older than me and my oldest sibling, another brother, was 15 years older. And I did have a few pretend playmates for many years. They all remained consistant. I didn't swap out my best friends every few weeks. They were me and mine. Guess that explains a lot, huh? And maybe I’m just a good example of the reason for not being an only child, or a child with so many years in between.

"Un huh, ain't it great to be crazy?" Seems like that was a line from my younger years.