Walking Feet

Eowyn makes a sandwich on Princess Aurora plate


“You can please call me Princess Aurora,” Eowyn politely instructs me. Perhaps it is preschool that has encouraged her existential grappling with identity or maybe it is just simply her prevailing passion for princesses. Either way, Eowyn’s precocious emergence into a miniature adult is arrestingly endearing and on occasion- disrespectfully spank-worthy. (yep, we spank)

To begin, in recent weeks, her teacher, the illustrious Miss Kate*, has been quoted with greater frequency than Al Sharpton at an NAACP rally. To be honest, I am a little jealous of this woman’s clout with my toddler. Without fail, everyday as I collect Princess Aurora from her classroom, I audience this directive, “Eowyn, your mommy is here. Wait…wait… let’s use our walking feet. . . your walking feet, Eowyn.” And as she power walks towards me, I am poignantly reminded of this tribute to the magical power wielded by Miss Kate* over my daughter and her always running feet. If Miss Kate* proffered blue Kool-aid, Eowyn would gulp it down and politely request a refill.

As a follow-up to the “walking feet” tutorial, I began to discuss the importance of moving more slowly (in life) to avoid mishaps and accidents of which I, myself, often fall prey. After a contemplative pause, Eowyn sympathetically soothes, “You have accidents like I have accidents and go peepers in your panties?! Oh, I am sorry Mommy.” And then, I almost did.

During our lunchtime debriefing, the coveted position of dressing the “Weather Bear” is the preeminent subject of deliberation subsequently followed by a detailed account of classmate attendance (i.e. “Hunter was not here today. I do not know where he was.”) Apparently, Eowyn has excellent career potential as either a census worker or a bounty hunter. I am rooting for the latter.

Meanwhile, Kincaid has become like my version of Paris Hilton’s tote-sized Tinkerbell, except he is far cuter, never been exposed to coke and speaks four detectable words: “Mamamamama,” “Da-Da,” “Hi” and my personal favorite that reflects the disaster his walking feet now bring, “Uh-oh!” His dimpled cheeks are more edible than ever, in spite of his display of will that I mistakenly believed was less strong.

He adroitly wields my windowsill electric candles like a sword and this warrior spirit provides some consolation as I replace tiny light bulbs with the frequency of one who owns stock in GE. And at the slightest sound of running bathwater, with Pavlovian-precision, Caid toddles towards the tub to claim a few foam toys before they are inevitably wrested from his grasp by a Princess Aurora -less renowned for her benevolence and more so-for her running feet.



*** Teacher's name to protect her innocence