Saturday, September 21, 2013

conversations with a 7-year-old

Me: Daniel, come up here for a minute!
....
Me: Daniel, come up here for a minute!
...
Me: Daniel!!!
....
Stuart: Daniel, your mom is calling you. Go upstairs.
Daniel comes upstairs: What?
Me, pointing to an opened juice bag lying on the floor of the living room: What's the problem here?
Daniel: It's juice.
Me: Right, and it's open. On the floor of the living room. So there's sticky puddle here. It's your juice from your soccer game and I need you to clean it up. Get a rag and put water AND DISH SOAP on it or the floor will be sticky. If you don't want to finish juice, you should pour the rest out in the sink and throw the container away. Don't leave it on the floor.
Daniel grabs a rag out of the closet and drops three more on the floor of the hallway. He gets it barely damp in the bathroom sink and heads for the spill.
Me: You need to pick up the extra rags you dropped on the floor.
Daniel: (blinks)
Me: Pick up those rags, please.
Daniel picks up the rags, then heads for the juice spill.
Me: You forgot something.
Daniel: What?
Me: I told you to get a rag and what else?
Daniel: What?
Me: No, I said water and what else?
Daniel: Ummmm, a towel??
Me: (exasperated sigh) No, a rag with water and soap. Otherwise, the floor will be sticky.
Daniel stands helplessly by the kitchen sink.
Me: I said dish soap, remember? Here. I'll help you with the soap. By the way, what should you do if you don't want to finish the juice?
Daniel: Throw it away?
Me: No. What should you do first?
Daniel: What.
Me: What should you do with the rest of the juice?
Daniel: Pour it out?
Me: Yes, pour it out. Then throw away the container.
Daniel: Oh.

I'm sorry to say the rest of the day didn't go much better. By this evening I was out of patience and cranky and I'm sorry to say I let him know it. I know his ears work (now) and I know his brain works, but when I talk to him there's a short circuit in there. Or something.

1 comment:

Jessi said...

I exaggerate a lot. I tell Maren that I am upset that I had to ask her to do something seven times. Her response is inevitably, "You only told me five times." HA-Ha. HA! You just admitted you heard me, tiny frustrating ball of doom. You heard me. All five times. Take that!