"I can't sit down. I can't stand up. I can't sit down. I can't stand up. I can't sit down . . . "
She repeats it over and over and over in a sing-song voice, completely oblivious to the agony I'm experiencing as I have to listen to it. Rachelle was exhausted and is already asleep. So is Christian. Peacefully, silently slumbering away.
What goes on in 4-year-olds' heads anyway? What trigger do they not have that alerts them to annoying behavior? And at what age does that trigger engage?
Finally, I can't take it anymore. "Seriously, Shae, you have got to be quiet. For 2 minutes. Do you think you can do that? Let's see if you can. I'll go set the timer."
Of course she can't. But she's been begging me for a banana since she didn't eat all of her dinner and she is now, according to her, starving. Usually I don't cave on this. You didn't eat what was on your plate - it's your problem. But this a great
"If you can be quiet until the timer goes off, I'll give you a banana."
We silently finish our Halloween bats together. By "together" I mean that I am gluing everything together while she observes. Of course it is this sideline relegation that got her to start in on the sing-song behavior to begin with.
But as I glue in silence, I can't help it. A smile begins to form on my lips. A giggle begins to sneak out. And before I know it, I'm overcome with hysterical laughter. Because my head is still replaying the rhythm of "I can't sit down. I can't stand up." And it's just such a ridiculous thing to be saying over and over again anyway. I mean, what even got her thinking about that in the first place? And the next thing I'm thinking is about Kramer, in that Seinfeld episode with Kathy Griffin, where he's made a vow of silence and she just keeps talking and talking and talking. Until he finally explodes with "You know, you've gotta shut up!"
As all this plays through my head, the laughter increases. And a little 4-year-old soprano giggle joins in. She has no idea what's so funny, but she's got a grin from ear to ear, exposing all of her teeth. She looks so beautiful right now. So carefree and alive. I capture the moment in my heart for safe keeping.
The last bat is assembled. The timer beeps.
"You know, my teacher at school just tells us it's time to zip it. And then we make this zipping sound, like this, ZZZZZZZP! while we zip up our lips. That always works."
Hmmm . . . I will have to remember that.
