It Was Just Applesauce, Honest

I know I’ve mentioned this before, but nothing is a better mirror of you than your children’s play, especially when they’re pretending to be you. The girls have been playing “Mommy” a lot, usually using their stuffed animals, or some toy horses, as was the case yesterday, to play their little version of “house.” Quinn has advanced in ranks to actually play the “mommy” sometimes–SK always made her play the daddy role, so if you ever come over to visit and Quinn starts talking to you in this loud, booming voice, well…she’s been trained. Most of the time the game is really cute, and pinpoints a time we all spent together, and therefore makes a mom feel really good about herself:

“Hey Daughter!”

“Yes, Mommy?”

“Let’s make applesauce!”

“Ooh! I love to make applesauce.”


Sometimes it’s practical, and just proves that they pick up on more than you know  (or want them to):

“This is the mommy,” Saoirse said, while making the bigger of her plastic horses hover outside the toy barn. “Her back hurts.”

(That mommy horse probably got wrecked carrying around three massive foals in her belly, too. I empathize.)


And then there’s the disturbing. The scary. The oh-dear-Lord-let-this-be-their-imaginations-and-not-some-personification-of-my-attitude-lately:

“Guess what, Daughter?”


“Sharky’s mommy told her not to make friends.”


“Because she’ll eat them.”

On second thought, forget what I said. Kids are just really creative, and our home life has no bearing whatsoever on the lives they play out while they’re pretending.

Now, can you pass me those Tums? I had a big meal earlier.



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