Often, when Ellen meets a new adult, it takes a moment for her to warm up. Her first “hello” usually needs to be prompted, but if the adult sticks with it and gives her a chance to come out of her shell, she gets pretty chatty. Usually, the conversation goes something like this:
New Adult: Hi there!
Ellen: [Sucks thumb and checks on Terry the Turtle]. Me [whispering]: Can you say hello?
Ellen [quietly]: Hello.
NA: What’s your name?
Ellen: Ellen.
NA: How old are you?
Ellen: I am three-and-a-half. [Considers whether or not she should share any more personal information, and decides continued conversation is likely safe]. And I am even a big sister!
NA: You are?! I bet you are a WONDERFUL—
Ellen [interrupting NA to deliver the line that indicates that she has reached minimum comfort level necessary to disclose even the most personal and incriminating identifiers]: And I even love Thomas SO MUCH!
At this point, I respond to the amused but confused look from NA with something like, “Yes, we are BIG fans of Thomas the Train at our house.” If the NA knows even a little about Thomas, he or she might ask her which train is her favorite, and from there Ellen has won a friend.
I don’t remember how it all started, so it seems that Ellen has always liked Thomas. I have no idea when she got her first train, and who gave it to her, but I know she’s been a Thomas fan at least since she wore a size 2T, because one of her three Thomas shirts is that size and now she’s in a 4. At any rate, it’s been long enough that her affection for Thomas and Friends has mellowed and deepened into a love for the ages, somewhat like a long-term couple whose relationship is hallmarked by the security of many years of shared memories, rather than the new couple whose relationship revolves around the fresh excitement of constant (and varied degrees of) togetherness.
She used to share her trains readily, but now if Cecilia goes after one, she yells “Nooooooo!” followed by “Mom, Cecilia has one of my trains, and my trains are VERY special to me!” Now she calls them her “pets” and they join the ranks of important people in Ellen’s life such as her imaginary children (she informs me that she has ten children – Claire, Elizabeth, and eight more with names that change every time she refers to them but which always have a Russian flavor).
Last week, I heard the water running in the bathroom sink, and a brushing of something other than teeth. When I went to investigate, Ellen was using her toothbrush and quite a bit of hand soap to scrub Thomas over the sink. Three or four more trains were in line for the same sort of attention. “Mom, they need a wash-down,” was her explanation. We replaced her active toothbrush with an old one and agreed that no more hand soap would be used, but a minute or two later, she requested a second wash-down toothbrush for water only, no soap – (“the other is too bubbly, and they need a rinse.”). Now, after several days of this, the wash-down process has reached a complexity which involves scrubbing with bubbles (hand soap), scrubbing without bubbles, rinsing under the faucet, repeating either or both of the first two steps, and finally air-drying to perfection on the bathroom countertop. Every day, someone is due for a wash-down.
Below, Ellen demonstrates her wash-down technique, which includes both slow scrubbing and fast scrubbing. Every nook and cranny must be cleaned; it’s a full-time job. (The red mark on her left cheek is the largest pimple I’ve ever seen, especially on a three-year-old, and was caused by my overzealous sunscreening in West Virginia over Memorial Day weekend).  |
| Hiro prepares for his wash-down |
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| Lovingly scrubbing |
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