If you ask my 3 year old who Cleo is, she'll say "She's my best friend. She doesn't listen. She's not fake."
That is pretty much all you need to know.
If someone colored on the walls, it was probably Cleo. The stuffed animals all over the floor? Cleo? Why is my daughter dancing around naked? Cleo's mom told her to. Bathroom visits take twice as long because we have to wait for Cleo to take her turn too. The other day, I caught my daughter cleaning up the floor in her room, and she patiently explained to me that Cleo had pooped on the floor, so she was dumping water on the spot. When I suggested that since Cleo has imaginary poop, maybe it could be cleaned with imaginary water. This did not go over well.
My older daughter, whose six, has asked the three year old why she plays with Cleo, if Cleo is so mean. That should tell you about what we overhear when the three year old is playing by herself. The two of them are always fighting.
So when my husband got sick - before we knew it was cancer or even that it was serious- Cleo's dad was sick too. The night we were headed to drive him to the ER, my three year old grabbed her doctor's kit so she could take care of her daddy and Cleo's daddy, because, don't you know, Cleo's daddy is in the hospital too.
Later, on a slow elevator in the wing of the hospital we stayed for the first few days of our week-long stay, it occurred to me that my daughter was on to something. Let's process this by assigning the sickness to someone else. Not us. Really, it's Cleo's dad who has to get chemo, and is missing seeing his girls sit on Santa's lap, or playing in the snow with them.
I don't think it's the healthiest plan, but you know. Denial? When it's not denial, then maybe Cleo's mom and I can compare notes about how scary it is to watch your life partner be so totally rocked and not be able to do anything about it. Although, if Cleo's mom is telling her daughter (and mine) to run around naked at bedtime, maybe I don't want anything to do with her after all.
Who knows. But I process life by writing, and so today, I decided to leave the dirty dishes, the cluttered living room, the massive end-of-day disinfecting I need to accomplish before bedtime, and start writing.
That is pretty much all you need to know.
If someone colored on the walls, it was probably Cleo. The stuffed animals all over the floor? Cleo? Why is my daughter dancing around naked? Cleo's mom told her to. Bathroom visits take twice as long because we have to wait for Cleo to take her turn too. The other day, I caught my daughter cleaning up the floor in her room, and she patiently explained to me that Cleo had pooped on the floor, so she was dumping water on the spot. When I suggested that since Cleo has imaginary poop, maybe it could be cleaned with imaginary water. This did not go over well.
My older daughter, whose six, has asked the three year old why she plays with Cleo, if Cleo is so mean. That should tell you about what we overhear when the three year old is playing by herself. The two of them are always fighting.
So when my husband got sick - before we knew it was cancer or even that it was serious- Cleo's dad was sick too. The night we were headed to drive him to the ER, my three year old grabbed her doctor's kit so she could take care of her daddy and Cleo's daddy, because, don't you know, Cleo's daddy is in the hospital too.
Later, on a slow elevator in the wing of the hospital we stayed for the first few days of our week-long stay, it occurred to me that my daughter was on to something. Let's process this by assigning the sickness to someone else. Not us. Really, it's Cleo's dad who has to get chemo, and is missing seeing his girls sit on Santa's lap, or playing in the snow with them.
I don't think it's the healthiest plan, but you know. Denial? When it's not denial, then maybe Cleo's mom and I can compare notes about how scary it is to watch your life partner be so totally rocked and not be able to do anything about it. Although, if Cleo's mom is telling her daughter (and mine) to run around naked at bedtime, maybe I don't want anything to do with her after all.
Who knows. But I process life by writing, and so today, I decided to leave the dirty dishes, the cluttered living room, the massive end-of-day disinfecting I need to accomplish before bedtime, and start writing.
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