My youngest is 58 pounds of energy and creativity just waiting to burst forth at any given moment. She loves to make up games, tell stories and play make believe for hours on end. All day. 24/7. Non stop.
Most of the time, she will use her stuffies, all 358 of them, for her audience or her actors or her props or whatever but every once in awhile, she requires the participation of a human being and if she doesn’t have a playmate over, she resorts to me.
Now, I will be the first to admit that I am not one of those get-on-the-floor-and-stay-there-forever mommies who can play store or school or zoo or vet or anything requiring imagination for eight continuous hours. I’m just not. I don’t have the mental capacity to pretend to be anything other than me. Except dead. I’m awesome at pretending to be a corpse. But Helena very rarely wants to play funeral parlor.
I would rather go outside and play catch or kick a soccer ball around or go for a walk than be hired as Principal of Helena’s Awesome School Northwest and have to lecture Paddy Quackers about the inappropriateness of pulling out his feathers and flushing them down the toilet during math class. And it is not lost on me whatsoever that my voluntarily choosing a physical activity has IRONY written all over it in big bold permanent marker because anyone who knows me knows that I am allergic to nature and exercise and sweat.
But I adore Helena so sometimes, I try to indulge her fantasies. Like the other day when she asked if I would play Littlest Pet Shop with her. It was 3:00 in the afternoon and I should have known better because there is something about that time of day that makes me feel like lapsing into a coma. But I forged ahead and creaked and squeaked and groaned and got my body down on the floor to her level with every good intention of bringing to life those tiny little bobbleheaded creatures.
A half an hour later, I opened my eyes to stare up at the lady bug critter that Helena had placed on my forehead to keep me company while I napped.
Did you know that the road to hell was paved with those good intentions? I’m going to be one of those directed to the DETOUR: TAKE THE DOWN ELEVATOR when I get to the Pearly Gates.
I have always admired women who can play make believe with kids and do crafty activities with them for hours and not go insane. I want to be them when I grow up.
So unless Helena has a playmate over to pretend her bed has crashed on a deserted island and all the clothes on her floor are sharks just waiting to eat them alive, she pretty much sticks to creative activities that don’t involve her mom ticking off God.
Like illustrating picture books.
I happen to believe her work is the very definition of Totally Amazingest. I’m always struck by how humble she is. She gets that from her father.
This particular picture book was all about fruit.
I love the worm.
And I love how she states the obvious. She gets that from her father as well but she always manages to add her own TOTALLY AMAZINGEST flair.
When my little peanut gives us a gift like this, I am completely overwhelmed with love for this child. I could hug the stuffing right out of her. Could she possibly be any sweeter? Makes me totally forget her birthday party when I gently told her to calm down a bit and she rolled her eyes at me and promptly declared to all who were present that I SUCK THE FUN OUT OF EVERYTHING.
This is one of my favorite Mother’s Day cards EVER. I absolutely love it because it is SO Helena in that she’ll play a joke and then feel compelled to explain it, just in case it went over my head. If she was taller and didn’t wear glasses, I would call her Nate.
This is classic Helena. Classic. She won’t pick up the bug because that is just ICK and she doesn’t do ICK because ICK duty is reserved for those with a Y chromosome. But she doesn’t want anyone to accidentally step on ICK especially because knows full well that a certain neurotic someone would wig out and die right there on the spot and then who’s going to make sure her gymnastics outfit is cleaned and ready to go every Friday? So she very carefully and courteously places a warning napkin over the ICK to give us all a heads up until Y chromosome gets home.
I love this kid.