So once, not that long ago, I made a recipe and I think it was called Tamale Pie, which is a popular name and style of recipe... and the distinguishing characteristics of it were:
1. The ground beef got cooked at the same time as the tomatoes, onions, etc -- it seemed almost too easy but it turned out extra-delicious.
2. The tamale breading part was a little sweet.
HELP! I can't find it anywhere. It was soooo yummy.
So at ECFE on Wednesday, the leader (Mary Ann) mentioned that she had been watching Ed do something (she didn't say what) and was about to correct him, when she "realized he's only two." (To which I quickly replied that he is, in fact, only one for another nine days but please don't let me interrupt your thoughts or anything.) She went on to explain that when your children are way bigger (or way smaller) than other kids their ages, people can have incorrect expectations about what their behavior will be like. Ed, she informed me, looks like a three-year-old. I knee-jerk denied it, but some of the other moms were nodding and mentioning that Ed was indeed taller than other almost-three-year-old boys in class. And I was, like, oh holy cow, they're right -- and I didn't see it because Lucy is also an Amazon. They're proportionate to each other, sure, but I probably should have noticed that Ed is suddenly wearing 3T clothes.
This is all well and good, but it kind of hit me like a ton of bricks. I've never before had to worry about my kids' development. And I was never especially small or large for my age; and I was for sure a "late bloomer" when it came to boys and social maturity. Joel, on the other hand, was his current 5'11" in fifth grade. And it ought to come as no surprise that the kids inherited many of his physical genes.
So the other morning the kids were making noise in their room, so I lumbered downstairs and opened their door. I had brought Lucy with me to HSM rehearsal the night before.
"Mommy," Lucy says, "That show was great. Thank you for taking me."
Before I could scrape my jaw up off the tops of my feet, Lucy sneezed.
"Bless you, Eddie," said Eddie.
Still bewildered at where these polite little people came from, I said, "Bless you Lucy!"
"Thank you!" said Eddie.
Speaking of the show, during rehearsal I had to take Lu to the bathroom, where she found all kinds of delight in the automatic flusher. Something about the smallness of her body on the toilet must freak out the sensor, or something -- it flushed six or seven times while she was in there. The first time surprised her. The second time scared her a little. After the third, her eyes got really wide and she said "A hundred flushes!?!?" And after that it was a fit of shrieking-giggles every time. The soap and water are automatic in there, too -- Lucy must have thought she'd stepped onto the set of The Jetsons or something. If she'd ever seen The Jetsons, that is. Now that you mention it, I don't think I've even ever seen The Jetsons. Not that I'm complaining.