hoarding pom-poms

When Marley gets upset, she whimper-screams and runs around in circles.  This morning, she performed an admirable display of this technique after I turned off the television and brought the remotes with me into the kitchen.  She was yelling "Give me the ma-lotes!" and high stepping all angrily in a pretty tight space.  But I wanted her to move on after a morning of Sid the Science Kid, Super Why, and who knows how many other PBS Kids hits, since I was just joining the living.  Marley's two-month-old sister Rudy had just finished her first bottle of the day and I was sipping my first coffee.  Coffee, by the way, makes me a much better mother in the same way that it made me a much better English teacher, especially for that first block class.  Anyhow, I wanted Marley to move away from the glowing screen and instead, to finish the drawing she has started on our makeshift coffee table: a picture for Will, her buddy and neighbor, on his way to Pennsylvania for a three-month stay while his parents train the people who have bought their furniture business.

Look at these two maniacs.  Look, especially, at Will's tatt; he's so cool.  Marley and Will alternately love each other and drive each other bonkers.  We've visited Will at home only to have him declare that he wants alone time, marching into his room and slamming the door behind him.  At least he's honest.  There was another visit where he raced over to her, practically panting: "Hey Marley, want to dance?  There's some really good songs playing."  Of course, she couldn't refuse, and when he took off his shirt because he was getting so hot from all the dancing, Marley asked me to help her take hers off, too.  (I actually hesitated for a moment, but sweet Jesus, they're three- and four-year-olds.)  Will visited us earlier this week and Marley refused to share her popcorn with him.  He was exasperated when her Cinderella alarm clock went off, blasting "A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes" while they were playing with her dollhouse.  In less than two seconds, he wanted it off.  "What, Will?  You don't like Cinderella?" I asked.  "I like Spiderman!" he said, mortified.  And yet, Marley has told me that she's going to marry Will.  You're probably beginning to get the idea.

Will and the rest of his family were going to drive by our house to start off their six-plus hour drive to their temporary home, and I wanted to give him something.  For example, a presumptuous framed photograph of his buddy Bean, as well as some thoughtful pictures she made for him.  But Marley doesn't really get that she's not going to see him for a while, and so while I kept asking her to finish her picture, she kept plopping herself on the couch to peruse her latest pile of library books.

Later, while we were in the playroom/mudroom waiting to say goodbye, I got an idea.  "How about giving Will one of your pom-poms as a special Marley gift?" I asked.  She's got at least a hundred pom-poms organized into different containers in her playroom.  They're often used in the kitchen as soup or cookies, along with her superballs and the rocks she collected on several Truro beaches this summer.  These cooking items are like her trademarks.  And she has plenty to share.

But not if you're three, I guess.  That kid couldn't even let a pom-pom go.  I told her she wouldn't even miss it.  "Yes I would!" she whined.  In the end, Will got the presumptuous framed picture, a lame stick figure drawing I did, and the half-finished Will on a slide. (Before we went outside to give it to him, I asked her what it was.  "I don't know," she smiled.  But earlier, it was Will on a slide, so we'll go with that.)  And then they were off, and our neighborhood will not be the same until some time in April.  I'm pretty sure that the first envelope we send to Pennsylvania will have a pom-pom in it, though.  Whether Marley knows it or not.