By Mel Cooke, Freelance Writer
WESTERN BUREAU:
Dear Diary,
IN TWO days Mansie will officially be a schooler. All of nearly three years old and she will be trotting off with her Cooke Monster knapsack on her back and her lunch pan in her hand.
I wonder if those teachers have even a hint of what is in store for their Spring term. I almost feel sorry for them.
Diary, Mansie was all gung-ho about going to school, nagging the living daylights out of anyone who would listen every day with "Mani want to go to school". So I drove past the prospective school one day and said there it is. Face drop. T'ings change. Suddenly, she
doesn't want to go to school anymore.
Why?
"Mani scared."
And that was before C and I took her over to the school and she saw the kiddos running up and down. She hung behind her mother, wouldn't try on the uniform and held firm to a leg as we went near to the children.
Then she saw the swings and the climbing stuff.
Diary, her face lit up and she went right over to try climbing up and hand over hand swing one, even though it was really too big for her. C helped her and Mani's face just lit up like an oversized fluorescent screw-in.
I stood up under a tree and watched them and, Diary, if ah neva strang ah woulda leak a heyewata. There is this kiddo, just born and heading off into the great unknown, laughing her guts out. She will never be truly just ours again. Y' know, you have your children to yourself for such a brief moment it is scary. And sad. But the Khalil Gibran guy did say that 'your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of life's longing for itself'.
To read it and feel it are two different things.
The next morning, as Mansie woke up, the first thing she said was "Mani not scared of children anymore". It gets better or worse. Mr. M has given her good advice about defending herself ('mash dem mout', to be precise), so when I asked her about what would happen if any of the children troubled her she said, doing the actions at the same time, "mash dem mout', jump in the car and drive".
Alrighty, then, no need to worry about you.
She has had some opinion swings, Diary, but since she got the backpack and lunch pan from Aunty P, it has been hard to get her out of them. So I guess she will be OK.
HURRICANE RINSIE
I hope I am okay with Rinsie, the less than 20-pound wrecking machine. In one trip to the Garden Parish, she managed to break a kettle, couple figurines and a glass (I think). Back in the city she took care of two pairs of glasses and a plate, empties dresser drawers at will and generally has a Hurricane Gilbert effect. All with a grin on her mug.
Rinsie is talking, though. Serious talking, at 14 months. 'Wight', 'toobrush', 'penet' (for open it) and 'arringe' are all down pat. 'Mommy' is the loudest, clearest and 'oftenist' word. It is the first thing she says every morning and the last thing before bed. Heck, she says it in her sleep!
She knows about 'tea' as well.
I have never seen a child as demanding of her mother as Rinsie. She follows her around saying 'Mammy, Mammy' and stretching up her arms. And C takes the ruling as well. Must be the maternal instinct, cause if I woulden run har suppen wrong.
Diary, Rini called me 'Daddy' for the first (and only?) time a couple weeks ago. I was doing some work and I could hear the little feet pattering down the passage. I gritted my teeth tighter and tighter as the light patter of approaching doom got closer and closer. And she pushed the door open hard, looked at me, I looked back and mentally dared her to disturb the work and she said 'Daddy!'
Oh joy! Work done!
DADDY OR DONKEY?
Diary, Mansi keep up one piece a feistiness wid me. There I was, with both of them on my stomach, giving a 'donkey ride', which always ends with me bouncing them off. Mansie actually ends up standing on the floor while Rinni scrambles back on quickly. And Mani looks at her sister seated triumphantly on my stomach, frowns and says "hey, that's my donkey!"
De hindignity of it all.
Rinni is so persistent, even Mani gives up on her sometimes. And that is saying a lot for a three-year-old who can repeat the same question three times in 30 seconds. Goddy S sent over a radio controlled car for Christmas and Mansi was all excited. So was Rinsi, but the little one could not get the concept of leaving it on the ground to run by itself, so she kept picking it up. Mani kept lecturing her ("leave it, Riziggy, leave it"), until, after about half an hour she gave up, flopped down on a couch and said, with a sigh of exasperation: "Oh dear. Drive."
Diary, Mansie has been doing some driving of her own. I sit her up in my lap and she holds on to that steering and tugs away. The only problem is, she just can't keep her eyes on the road.
%$#$%women drivers.
Mansi is some little Miss Two plus going 20 plus. She has developed the notion of 'my room' and 'my bed' and 'my this' very neatly and woe be unto the person who invades her space without permission. Like Uncle A, who she woke up one morning, asking over and over again (louder each time): "What you doing in Mani bed?"
True my girl. Run whe uninvited man fram yu bedroom. Same way so.
Diary, she is not afraid to chastise her mother either. Like last week, when she did her bathroom thingie and her mother was not on hand as required and requested. When C finally went, Mansi let her have it: "Mommy, you didn't come when Mani call you. I needed you and you didn't come. Don't go away again when Mani wants you."
I woulda shame, Dear Diary.
