Around four this morning (yes, that seems to be the witching hour) Hannah joined me in bed. "I'm just having a rough night," she explained. "I got up to go potty, and my knee started hurting." I let her snuggle for a while, but she voluntarily returned to bed.
The morning was off with a bang, which is usually how it goes when I opt to hit snooze, especially on Fridays. Emma goes to speech preschool on Friday mornings, which happens to coincide exactly with the time Naomi's bus arrives. Naomi was in a funk because her jeans wouldn't fit inside her snow boots. I left Matt to deal with her and dashed out the door with Emma at 8:25. She arrived at preschool just as they were opening the door at 8:30, but was upset to discover that we had left her backpack at home. I promised to bring it back for her. At 8:34 I pulled back in our driveway just as Naomi's bus was coming down the street. I jumped from the van, ran inside and nearly dragged her out to the bus as it pulled up in front of our house. As she climbed on the bus I realized she wasn't wearing a hat. "Just get on the bus," I urged, "I'll bring your hat to school." At least I had two good reasons to go back to the school now. Emma's teacher was relieved when I arrived with the backpack. "Oh good," she sighed, "That'll make her happy." Naomi was equally relieved to see her hat.
When I flopped back on the couch after my one-hour dash, Hannah strolled up beside me with her pajamas still on and tussled hair. "Mommy," she frowned, "my knee still hurts." (Actually, she has trouble with 'r' so it sounded more like "huwts".)
"Does it really?" I probed, scrutinizing her body language for any real sign of pain--none was detected.
"Yes! It really does. It really hurts a lot!" she insisted. I gave her knee a kiss and gave her a pep-talk about not making big deals out of little ones, but she wasn't giving up this opportunity for attention.
"Don't worry about it, Hannah, it will heal up," I assured her. "Do you want some breakfast?"
"Well...," she thought, "I'm just gonna eat breakfast and worry about my knee."
One bowl of cereal later she called from the kitchen, "Mommy, I want more...or maybe my knee is my tummy and I shouldn't eat because my knee hurts." When I asked her to get dressed later she replied, "No! I need to worry about my knee!" Lying down on the floor she remarked, "I obeyed myself, and now I'm worrying about it." When I refused her further attention and left to take care of work, she shadowed me saying, "I have to follow my mommy wherever she goes because my knee hurts."
I turned to her in cynicism, "Honey, if your knee hurts so much, why are you smiling?"
"Well, I just had a frown that you thought was a smile," came the innocent response.
She noticed that the envelope that I was jotting her phrases down on was filling up. "I'll get you another paper," she offered, "in case I be more funny." When I laughed openly at that she grinned and danced about the room for a moment, then stopped. "Oh! I forgot I'm sad!" she quipped as she fell to the floor in mock pain, kissing her knee. "Oh! Twenty kisses won't help this time! Oh!"