We Better Start Listening...

Ever since I was pregnant with Abby, I have felt an amazing closeness to my little girl. Perhaps it was because we waited so long to get her...perhaps it's because she looks like my Mini-me, who knows...but I've joked for years that she can read my mind. It's quite common for us to be driving down the road, absorbed in our own thoughts and have her blurt out a question about some random thought that had just passed through my mind - even if it's as insignificant to a four year old as, "Mommy, did you lock the door before we left?" or, "Mommy, it's been a long time since you've talked to your missionary friend, hasn't it?"

But lately, it's been getting stronger.

Example A:

For a few months, I've secretly been wanting a "Bash and Chop" thingy that you see chefs use on cooking shows so they can chop their veggies up super fast and then slide them into their soup using the scooper thing? (I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.) Anyway, it's a silly little thing that of course I didn't spend too much time thinking about, nor mention to anyone - especially my four year old.

When Ben took the kids out to buy my birthday gift, he told Abby she could choose a gift for me. She loved the idea and Ben said she marched into that store like a woman on a mission. She walked directly to the kitchen section, turned down an isle, walked straight to a small square box, picked it up, handed it to Ben and said matter-of-factly, "Mommy will LOVE this. She's been wanting one just like this." You have to look closely in this picture that Ben snapped after he heard my shocked reaction upon opening her gift, but sitting on top of the box is my very own BASH AND CHOP!!! For those of you who doubted me in the beginning of this blog, go ahead and tell me what other four year old gives THAT as a gift?! She didn't even know what it was when Ben asked her! I was amazed. (And by the way, that thing ROCKS. I pretend I'm the star of my own kitchen show every time I use it.)
But that's only the beginning. It gets even better.

Example B:

I had to google this image of broken glass because there is no documented evidence of the following story. I was so freaked out by the whole incident that I didn't even think about taking a picture until everything was all cleaned up. It goes a little something like this:

Two weeks ago, our entire family was hit hard by a NASTY cold. The kids both had 103 degree fevers for five days straight and spent their days and nights coughing, sneezing, and whining about sore throats. Ben and I took turns staying home with them. On Tuesday afternoon, I had just put Isaac down for a nap and he was a bit grumpy. Long ago he learned how to climb out of his crib and most of the time after I put him down he gets out and plays for a while, then pulls a blanket off his crib and curls up in the middle of the floor to sleep.

A few minutes after I put him down, Abby and I heard a Huge glass-shattering crash from his room and I thought for sure the little rascal had climbed out of his crib and broken something. I went running in to find the innocent little boy safely in his crib, still tucked in, sucking his thumb with the widest eyes I've ever seen. Broken glass was EVERYWHERE and it took me a minute to figure out where it had come from.

I looked up to his ceiling and saw that the glass cover had randomly fallen off of his light fixture and sent shards of glass sailing all over the room. Of course my first thought was to see if he was okay, so I tiptoed through the wreckage to scoop him up and inspect every millimeter of his little body. There was glass all over the floor. There was glass under his crib; there was glass on top of his changing table (that is inches away from his crib); there was glass around the back and either side of his crib - but I couldn't find one single shard inside his crib. He was scared, but completely fine.

If that wasn't amazingly weird enough, after I soothed him and got him back to sleep in Abby's bed, she came in with me and helped me clean up his room. We spent a good half hour in there cleaning and vacuuming and re-vacuuming and talking about how lucky Isaac was that he wasn't right under that when it fell, and how lucky it was that no glass ended up in his crib. But she didn't say anything else.

When Ben came home that evening, I showed him Isaac's room and told him what happened. As soon as he heard the story, his face went a little white, he turned to Abby and said, "Abby, I should have listened to you!" It seems that just the day before, Abby out of the blue came up to him and said, "Daddy, you need to fix Isaac's light, it looks like it's going to fall down." She wasn't even in Isaac's room when she said it. Ben went in, looked at the light and said it looked totally fine.

Weird, don't you agree? I think I'm going to take this kid a little more seriously from now on.