WELL!Ladidah

The boys had been awfully quiet that day as I worked in the kitchen preparing food. I did not worry though. Playing upstairs in their bedroom kept them safely occupied. Still, why did I hear the giggles? I looked up the stairwell to see both preschoolers peeking over the edge without a stitch of clothing.Shocked? No. Surprised? Definitely. “Well, la-di-dah!” I exclaimed. Startled, they looked at me. “You two, go put your clothes on,” I commanded. They ran back to their bedroom and came down later wearing pull on shorts with elastic waists and t-shirts. Easy clothes for dressing themselves and obviously just as easy for undressing. A logical choice since I pushed early on for each child to learn how to “go and put your clothes on.” Most found that to be no problem. Then baby brother came along. He flopped and whined pathetically, “You help me. I can’t do it.” He could not possibly dress himself unless he wanted to do something right away. After breakfast one morning, I told him, “you need to go upstairs and get dressed.” He protested. He whined. He slumped down wailing, “I can’t. You help me. I caaann’t do it.”I knew he could do it. “You go up there and get dressed right now! You can do it,” I pointed up the stairs. Just outgrowing the tantrums, he jutted out his chin defiantly. Still not relenting to tantrums, I clamped my lips tight, looked at him severely and pointed up the stairs. He slumped. He had lost this discussion before. He began stomping up the wooden steps mumbling, “Her way! Her way! It’s always her way!” I bit back a chuckle as I turned to clearing the table.Those incidents went into the repertoire of family stories and their childhood vocabulary. I still catch myself describing someone as being “in their la-di-dahs.” Kids. They generally shine with pride when they learn to tug on a pair of socks or a t-shirt. They also enjoy the independence of not having to wait on an adult when they want to shed itchy clothes. I guess that explains the four-year-old grandson, a quarter of a century later. He was the ring bearer at his uncle’s wedding. All the attendants wore Indonesian style clothes. I made skirts for the little girls and a button shirt for him. They looked quite cute in their matching outfits.He looked at the shirt and protested, “why do I always have to be the ring bearer?” “Well, because maybe you are the only grandso,” I thought. Still, I could see and hear his frustration. So I asked, “Well, shall we let your sister be the ring bearer and you be the ring bearer’s helper?”“Yes!” he grinned. He would show her how to do it. He grabbed his little sister’s hand, dragged her down the aisle and made sure she knew how to do what he didn’t want to do. The two went to sit in the pew with their mother who was videotaping the event. The wedding went smoothly. The couple said their vows. The video flows up to the point when the couple began leaving. As the Mom of the ringbear’s helper turned the camera to follow the couple, she saw her son.A friend who saw the whole thing laughed gently and recalled, “He wiggled and squirmed, pulling at the shirt during the vows. Finally, he pulled the shirt over his head. When his mother turned around with the camera and saw him, she nearly dropped the camera.” She may not have said it, but her son had given her the same “la-di-dah!” moment his dad had given me, at the same age so many years before.