By Mel Cooke, Freelance Writer
DEAR DIARY,
IF I had not actually lived it, I would not have believed it.
Mansi Peensie is going to be three years old tomorrow. Where have those over 1000 days gone? Beats me, but it has been one durned rollicking good ride.
I can remember the first time I saw her, wrinkled face and all (smile); the first time I heard her cry (pressure); the first time I cleaned her (blech a joke); the first time she got sick (scared); the first time she said 'Daddy' (joy), the first time for everything.
Heck, I remember the first time she moved and C called me from out West!
And I remember the first time I had to discipline her (trust me, it hurt her much more than it did me (heh heh).
Yup, Mansie is three years old and one little miss all by herself. As she says whenever I slip and call her a baby, 'Mani is big girl'.
Diary, I can see that quite a few adults are going to be intimidated by Mansie Peensie. She knows what she wants, is very precise and does not hesitate to correct any man, women or child. Like when Mr. M said she should get her lunch pan. "It's not a lunch pan, Granpaw, it's a lunch kit," she said.
Beg pardon, excuse me ma'am.
Of course, there are going to be problems down the line. There are going to be some adults who fear this independent, assertive trait and dub it 'rudeness'. There will be those who try to stamp her into submission over my carcass. And, even then, my duppy shall smite the ignorant cusses who are afraid to admit they are wrong or determined to make everybody conform to their so-called 'standards'.
Diary, Rinnie and Mansi are getting on famously when they are not having a spat over food, that is. (Mostly the spatting is on Mansie's part, cause it is Rinsie who does the grabbing, running and nyamming.) When Mansie comes home from school these days, Rinsi takes her lunch pan ooops, lunch kit as she comes in. "Come Riziggy," she says with a proprietarial air and leads the way to their room.
Then she sits on the bed and, after tugging off her shoes, sticks a foot. And Rinnie happily pulls the socks off in turn.
Diary, Mansie is very proud of her sister. Last Friday I was home alone when it was time to pick her up from school. I slapped Rinnie into the stroller and set out. When I got there (having basked in the smiles of the ladies I passed on the road), I pushed Rinnie into the classroom.
I, Dear Diary, quickly became a bystander, as Mansie took over operations. She whisked the stroller away and presented it to her teacher. "This is my Riziggy," she declared proudly, beaming like 100 'Home Sweet Home' lamps. The process was repeated with the teacher of the other class, but this time I was included. "And this is my Daddy," she introduced me proudly. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
And we three, with Mani at the stroller helm, wheeled out of there.
Diary, going for Mansie in the afternoons is an adventure all in itself. First of all, she has this play routine when I get there. (Whoa! Before we get to that, she is at a very dangerous height. When she catches sight of me in the classroom and rushes to hug me, her forehead is exactly in line with my -- zipper, shall we say? Yu waan see big man hook up!)
Anyway, she has a play routine, that starts the swing set so I have to trot along behind her as she gets seated. Then I have to push her 'up into the tree, Daddy, up into the tree'. Then it is over to the jungle gym where she goes to the very top, hooks her legs over the bar, goes over backwards and says "Mani upside down".
(The first time I saw her do that, she did not see me watching. I nearly flipped!)
Then it is over to the tyre on a rope swing set-up where she demands that I push her in a sort of circular pattern. It is then, and only then, that we can leave without a fuss. There is the race to the gate, too.
Going home is another matter. There is this bulldozer parked on the road with the blade down, which Mani calls her monster. So she goes and stands up in it and I go behind the blade and go 'braaaaaaa'!
A quick wave to the lady on the corner who sells sweets and banana chips and it is down the stretch we go. Last week, after a shower of rain, we went 'river-jumping' across the puddles. And she knows which ones are too big to leap over.
So she just goes around.
She does a balancing thing on the kerb wall, then as we turn the corner and the house is in sight, she asks if she can run and takes off up the stretch, me lumbering behind. As she touches the gate first (she always wins), she looks around and says "Mani beat Daddy".
It is a wonderful half-hour almost every day, Diary.
