“Mommy, do you remember that day we were crossing the street and that man said, ‘What a cute little girl’ about me?”
“Yes, I do, that was just a few weeks ago.”
Gratified pause.
“What did you think about that?” I asked.
“Goody.”
Anecdotes
Well Done
It’s pretty normal for preschoolers to get stuck in gender stereotypes. Nora gets the giggles when she sees a man wearing pink and a few weeks ago, she was giving me some crap about women not being able to be farmers. Just farmers’ wives.
So we work on it; addressing gender bias each time it comes up in conversation or books. Watching Mary Poppins, I had to explain what a “suffragette” is. Try breaking that down for a modern four-year-old.
Whew.
During our morning drive yesterday, we saw a construction worker standing in the street.
“Construction guys are important, right mommy?” (Ben’s in construction, so we’re trying to train her not to resent the folks who maintain our infrastructure.)
“Yes. Very important. And construction women, too. Women can be construction workers. Did you know that?”
“Right!” she says, and breaks into song, “We’re clearly soldiers in petticoats!”
Oh, yeah. The message is getting through…
The Double Agent
Nora is a bit small for four. She’s 38 inches tall and about 36 pounds. Big personality, so no issue there. But she’s still too small for a booster seat, and she wants one.
I’ve explained that you need to be four-years-old and forty pounds. Then Ben was doing some online research and he thought he discovered I was wrong about something. Which always pleases him. He found a Britax booster with a weight rating starting at 25 pounds and rashly announced she was big enough for a booster.
And it was on.
We bickered back and forth and I showed him that the seat in question converted from a harness style seat to a booster seat and the 25 pound rating was for the harness — when your kid reaches 40 pounds THEN you take the back off to make it a booster. I also took him to task for saying such a thing in front of a kid who now thinks she can get a booster, when, in fact, she can’t.
Then he told me I was being snotty about it. And now you think I’m blogging about a fight. Hang with me a second.
We were all seated on the bed, looking at the carseat on the computer. Nora was between us. She leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You’re not being snotty at all, are you?”
I nodded and stage whispered back, “Right!”
Then, she leaned over to Ben and whispered in his ear — and we all know how good kids are at whispering — “Mommy’s being kinda snotty, right?”
And we broke into peals of laughter.
It’s such a shame the cold war is over. She’d make a great double agent.
Morning Snuggle
Nora called me to her bedroom. It was too early for her to be awake.
“Mommy, I need a snuggle from you.”
I crawled in beside her and slipped my arm behind her head.
“Is my arm okay there or do you want me to move it?”
“I don’t want you to put your arm there anymore. Remember, we talked about this before?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Sorry.” I put my arm by my side and waited a beat.
She began to snore and I slipped away, back to my cup of coffee.
Why it’s Best I Don’t Own a Firearm
For the first few days I’m on the pump, I have to wake every three hours and test my blood sugar, to insure my insulin doses are set up correctly. Going in, I was short of sleep. So, last night, my nurse agreed to give me a break for a night.
Nora was tucked in and sleeping, I was dosing off, with the help of my good friend dyphenhydramine (I wasn’t leaving a good night’s sleep to chance!). It was nearly 9:00pm.
And then some jerk knocked on the front door, causing the dog to bark and Nora to wake up crying in fright.
I flew to the front door and opened the peep hole. It was not a neighbor in need of help, it was two schmucks I’d never seen before. “Go away!” I shouted and slammed the peep hole.
“Go away?” the fat jerk queried in a surprised, nearly mocking tone.
There are many things I could have said in response. For example:
“Listen Jackass, you just woke up my entire family, the chances of you selling me anything are the same as your chances of seeing me eat two turds plucked out of a stinking, tepid rain barrel.”
— or —
“You’re lucky I don’t own a gun, fatty, cause you’d be ready for the smokehouse right about now, so BEAT IT.”
— or —
“Sick ’em, Butch!” Cue the ferocious barking mix tape.
But he didn’t deserve a response, and Nora needed attending.
Seriously, those two asshat solictors are so lucky I don’t own hand gun.
I’m Somewhere Else Talking About Dead Animals
Yesterday’s post was a bit heavy on chronic disease and sentimentality, so this morning, I give you a light hearted story of a small woodland creature losing it’s life.
But it’s not here, it’s at @fishsticked’s place.
@fishsticked (formerly @writtendad) writes about how tough it is to balance, work, school, love and fatherhood. He’s a funny, irreverant, scone-eating smart ass. His blog design makes me jealous every time I look at it. Please go pay him a visit, read some of his stuff and leave lots of comment love.
Ta.