"I hope today you will be able to put some butterfly stickers in the garden!"
"But Mom, I only got to do that once. Actually twice. It's just too hard to be reverent! Other kids can be reverent but not me. I don't want to be. I like to talk the whole time."
I love kids that follow rules and strive to live lives of no reproach. I also love kids who can't follow a rule to save their life. I have both types of children of my own and they are delightful and dependable and hilarious in their own little quirks.
But my Kjel-Bell is like no other child I've ever known --- she is tender, responsible, empathetic, funny, beautiful, imaginative, and feminine.
The other day right as we were getting kids to bed, I happened to glance in the bathroom trash can and saw some beautiful locks of blonde hair lying on top of folded up wet diapers. I gasped, clapped my hand to my forehead, and marched into Kjel's room.
"Did you cut your hair?!"
"Yep. I did. With scissors."
I examined it and found some chunks absolutely chopped right off.
Kjel giggled and giggled. Steven stifled giggles. It took me a moment.
"Your beautiful hair, Kjel! We've been growing it out for so long! It was getting so long, like Rapunzel's! And your beautiful curls!"
"Okay, Kjel. This means that I have to cut it. Short."
At this point, I started laughing. "No, not like Dad's. But a lot shorter than it is now."
"Okay, Mommy." See, that's the thing with Kjel- you feel bad for inflicting consequences because she is so responsible and willing to take punishments without losing one bit of dignity. She never begs. Ever. She allows us to give her privileges and when she is in trouble, she gladly accepts her punishment and smiles through it, seeming to think to herself, "This is exactly what I wanted all along."
The next morning she bathed and I combed out her long yellow curls. Snip. Snip. Snip.
And now she has the most adorable little bob. And she loves it.
"I'm going to cut my hair every day so that you can keep cutting it, Mommy!"
When I make her very happy, she'll hold my cheeks in her soft little hands and say, "Mommy, when we go downstairs do not look at me, because I will be making you a present."
Then she draws me precious pictures of me with a crown, holding a balloon, with a baby strapped to me in a carrier, with Kjel beside me (with a taller crown), in a dress, holding her own baby.
I LOVE YOU, KJEL! More than I can say. Thanks for being my girl.
|Kjel posing with what she hopes Santa will bring her for Christmas. Heaven help us.|