musketeers don’t change nappies…

Sometime this morning, my Sadie decided she was going to be a musketeer. I was a bit surprised, as she’s usually the princess or the queen or something pretty in pink. Her favorite color is pink, you know. And purple. And yellow. And red. And…. well, you get the idea.

She found a roll of brown wrapping paper, though I’m not sure what we use it for. Brown paper packages? So, like any little kid who suddenly discovers a sword, she’s ready to have-at-you. After deciding she’s going to be a musketeer, she held out the sword, and hollered “Hi-YAH!”. Of course, I felt the need to explain that musketeers don’t say “hi-yah”, that’s what karate people say (talking to a three year old, remember?). After a few minutes of that old school favorite “Yes, they do”, “No, they don’t”, “Yes, they do”, “No, they don’t”, I finally convinced her.

In fact, I told her that they were much more likely to say “En garde” or “touché”. Thankfully, she pronounced them correctly. Now, Bubby didn’t want to be left out of the fun, so with the plastic green bat in Bubby’s hand (and me helping her hold it), we went a round or two with Sadie. Eventually, I poked her in the chest and said we’d won, so she figured that the same level on me meant she had to poke me in the belly to do that. After a bit, she’d try and win against Bubby and I, and I livened things up by just running around backwards, so she couldn’t get me.

Bubby didn’t want me to have all the fun, though, so I had to put her down and let her have a try. Not bad for a 16 mth old, you know. But then she wanted both “swords”, which just wouldn’t have been fair.

Before Sadie could “kill” me, though, I smelled a familiar odor, and picked the baby up, and her sister tried to stop me. I told her that if she wanted to change Bubby’s nappie, she could come along, otherwise, I needed to leave the room. The look of alarm on her face was ludicrous. No, musketeers definitely do NOT change nappies. Or diapers. I bet they don’t clean out litter boxes, either.

A while later, I was doing something in the living room, when I heard Sadie screaming bloody murder from her room, so I went tearing off to see what was the matter. Yes, I do know the difference between “I’m trying to put my shirt on, and now I’m stuck” screaming and “something’s really wrong/ I’m hurt” screaming.

Poor kid had been riding her rocking horse, when the head just up and broke off. She pitched right off the horse’s body, and she’s lucky she didn’t knock herself out on the dresser. Only a scratch or two, from the broken wood on the horse’s neck. She’d had the daylights scared out of her, also, but I think she was actually more upset that she’s broken her rocking horse. Either way, it took some time to calm her down, while Bubby came to stand by and look concerned. Occasionally, she’ll spontaneously offer someone a hug, if she really thinks they’re upset.

Well, I reassured my girl that her daddy would be able to fix her horsey, no problem. Hey, I could probably fix him, except the middle of the three pegs in his neck, connecting head to body, had broken. Better if Mr. B drills the pegs out and puts a new one in. Oh, come on, my dad had a workshop, I know how it’s done, even if I stay away when the saws are on. Besides, I once broke one of my bedposts (it was wobbly and old!), by accident, and my dad did the same thing to fix it.

Ah, the joys and tumbles of childhood. Come to think of it, I’m glad they liked using the bat and paper rolls as swords. The other day, one of the girls was using a really long pointy stick as a gun, and I still can’t get her to remember to watch where she points it. I dread the day one of the kids gets an eye poked out, because someone ran around a corner with a stick!

Oh, well… I survived. No, wait, my UNCLES survived childhood and teenager-hood and young-adulthood, so I suppose that means my kids have a pretty good chance.

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