I helped Abigail get dressed for playing out in the snow the other day. She looked down at herself and giggled, “I look like a Moca-mo!” she said. “You mean an Eskimo?” I asked. “Yeah,” she said, scrunching up her little nose and nodding her head, “a Moca-mo.”
Another day I was laying Abigail and Stephen down for their naps. Stephen was very upset, he didn’t want to go to sleep and kept crying, “Mommy!” Abigail laid down beside him and wiped the tears off of his cheeks. “It’s okay Stemum,” she said, “’cause I’m a wittle mommy! Can you tell me ’bout it?” To my surprise Stephen stopped crying for Mommy and laid his head on Abigail’s arm. He began to “tell her ’bout it” which consisted of babbling, sniffing, and repeatedly mentioning “Mommy”, “Tayuh” (his name for Sara and me) and “No, no, bed!” In the end, Abigail’s sweet motherly intervention resulted in a little boy much calmer and more satisfied who was asleep within the next twenty minutes.