I think the dreaded whys have started for my kiddo.
The neighbor's dog died, you see. Well, actually, it wasn't our neighbor; it was Grandma's neighbor's dog. But since Lydia stays with my mother-in-law all day while I'm at the day job, she was pretty close to this dog.
Whenever we'd drive by their house, she'd be like "There's Sam house." or "Look! Sam's outside." (Sam was the dog's name, though Lydia also calls Sam's owner Sam as well, though her name is really Deborah...or maybe Debra...have no clue how she spells it. Eek)
So, yesterday, I picked Lydia up after work and the first words out of her mouth were, "Sam died." I had to pause, wondering if we were talking about Sam, the dog, or Sam, the human. But, it was the dog, whew.
Grandma was liked, "Yeah. Sam's gone."
Then Lydia wanted to know where Sam had gone. We told her he was resting under the ground.
Well, where was the ground?
It's under the grass.
What's under the grass?
Dirt. Sam's going to turn into dirt and become part of the world again.
And then he's going to come back?
Well, no. Sam's never coming back.
I bet Sam (the human) is sad.
Yeah. Debra's pretty sad right now.
But...if the prince came. He could kiss Sam and make her all better again. And then she could come back.
Yeesh. This kid tries to come up with a happy solution for everything. And I fear she's had Snow White and Sleeping Beauty read to her one too many times, too. But seriously, I'm sooo not ready for death talks yet. She's only three! Isn't she supposed to wait until she's five or six...or twelve...before asking these kinds of questions?
Her cousin who's near the same age still talks in two or three word sentences. He cries and stomps around, yelling, "Mine, mine, mine," whenever his toy is taken away from him. Why can't Lydia still be in that stage (without the temper tantrums, of course) instead of contemplating death already?
Anyway, my proof copies for PRICE OF A KISS came in!! And what do you know, I found an oopsie on the first page one of chapter one. Grr.
I made Lydia do the usual pose-with-mommy's-new-book picture. But she'd just woken up from a nap thirty seconds after the books arrived, and she was a complete crabby pants. She was cold, she wanted me to hold her, she wanted some chocolate milk, her blankie and her iPad. She did not want to take a picture with some stupid books that didn't even have illustrations or a big bad wolf in them.
So, we tried again the next night with much better results!
And that's what's been going in Linda Kage world. What's up with you guys? And how do you handle death talks with little ones?