|"He's my bruder."|
Eliot took her big brother's departure much better than the first time he ever went away. She was only four at the time and it was brutal. As he left, she cried out desperately: "But he's my bruder and I love him." Now that Eliot is seven, things are a bit different. She still misses him but she is also basking in the glory of our undivided attention. And since she's home with a fever, it's normal attention multiplied by ten. Which is probably why I ended up doing what I usually refuse to do: voices. Let me explain.
All parents have some hidden talent. That secret thing they reserve for rainy days, emergency situations, visits with other children they are never going to see again. Magic tricks, baking cookies, crafts...I'm not good at any of these. If you hand me a paper and a crayon you are guaranteed a stick figure. Not surprisingly, the kids never ask me to draw anything for them.
What I am pretty decent at is voicing inanimate objects and making up stories. My children find this very entertaining (they don't get out a lot). I also do accents. The problem is that, even after two hours, they want more: "Do it again." Even after it's not funny anymore: "Do it again. Like you did before. Make it funnier."
There's really no point here (see mental exhaustion) except for this: wait till the child is at least 18 to unveil that special talent you may have. Preferably on his way to college. That may sound cruel but if you're a parent you'll understand. "Kid, people get paid to make jokes. It's called stand up comedy."
On the plus side, when the laughter subsides, you may finally get answers to some burning questions:
"So Eliot, this boy you are always mentioning...do you like him?"
What? He's my worst emeny!!