I Know

My kids already know all the things that I tell them.

“You are supposed to be getting ready for bed!”

“I know.”

“8 times 7 is 56, not 54.”

“I know.”

“No, you cannot play Angry Birds right now.”

“I know, I just thought I’d ask.”

Whatever.  Admitting you don’t know is hard.  I know.

“Ben, can I tell you a secret?” I asked tonight at bedtime.

“OK.”

I whispered in his ear, “I love … Phineas and Ferb.”

“That’s not what you were going to say!  You were going to say, ‘I love you.’”

“Come here.  I have another secret.  I love … chocolate cake.”

“Mom!”

I leaned in one last time.  ”I love … you!”

“I knew it!”

When I tucked Karina in, I told her my first two “secrets,” too.  She pulled back after each and looked askance at me as only a 6-year-old can do.

Then I whispered “I love you” in her ear.

“Well, I already know that!  Of course you do!”

“Mom!  Mom!  I wanna hear the secrets,” Riya called from the top bunk.

“OK,” I said, “here they are.  One, I love … chocolate cake.  Two, I love … Phineas and Ferb.  Three-”

“You love me!”

If there is one thing they truly do know, it should be that.

 

Nine.

On this, the eve of Riya’s 9th birthday, I suggested to her that she could be an excellent lawyer someday.  This is something Robin’s mom has maintained pretty much since Riya learned to talk, and every year I only get more convinced that she is right.

My arguments in support of this theory are as follows, though I am sure she would first want me to stipulate that she is in no way obligated to choose law as a career once she reaches the age of majority.

What prompted the observation in the first place was that she called me urgently to her room because she needed to tell me something.  When I got there, she pointed to a page in her book.  She was practically quivering with indignation over an injustice done to the main character, and she wanted someone to commiserate with her over it.

She has always been this way, rising to the cause of the underdog.  It has never mattered whether the underdog in question is fictional or real, historical or current, someone she knows or someone she will never meet.  It is one of my favorite things about her.

And then, as I was tucking her into bed later this evening, she talked me into promising that I would wake her up at 12:30 in the morning so she could celebrate the moment she turns 9.  Despite how it went last year.  Even though I told her there was no way I was falling for that again.

The alarm is set for 12:25.  Shut up.

Robin says I am a sucker, but I did at least gain one concession.  I said if she doesn’t remember tomorrow morning that I woke her up, then I never ever have to do this again.

“Forever,” Robin says, “is that how you measure 365 days?”

He would’ve made a good lawyer, too.

Happy 9th birthday, Miss Riya!

Feminism 101

We let Riya read The Hunger Games trilogy.  I had my doubts, but she loved it and handled it well, and I’d far rather see her challenged by reading material than bored by it, so…

Other than that, I really had no agenda, until Robin mentioned to me that someone had complimented him on allowing her to read it.  ”It’s so great to see young girls reading something with such a strong female lead character,” she said.

“Huh,” I said when he told me, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Fortunately or unfortunately, Riya overheard this conversation and wanted to know what we meant by “strong.”

“Ummm,” I said.  ”Well, you know how much I love Buttercup, but when Westley gets attacked by a giant rat, she just stands there, and that happens in a lot of stories – the girl doesn’t do anything to save herself or help anyone else.  She just waits for someone else to do it.  Do you think Katniss would just stand there, or would she whip out her bow and shoot the stupid rat?”

“She’d shoot it!” Riya answered.

“Right.  And even though The Princess Bride is an awesome movie, in the real world I’d rather be friends with somebody like Katniss than someone like Buttercup.”

“And,” Robin added, “I’d rather have my daughter be able to shoot the rat herself.”

Man, I love that guy.

Revealing

Priorities

“Aauuuuuuuuugh!” Riya screams, clearly distressed, from the bathroom.

“Oh, my God, what!?  What is it?” An impressively lengthy list of possible emergencies races through my mind.

“Ben OPENED THE DOOR!”

I pause, bent double, and try to slow my heart back down.  ”In the future, that kind of scream is only to be used if you see a mouse.  Or, you know, there’s a bad guy in the house or something.”

 

Six-year-old twins, or old married couple?

[Ambling into school, arms linked]

“What day was it that we saw Ms. M?”

“Yesterday.”

“No, no, no.  Yesterday was the day we were playing with L.”

“Yes, you’re right.  We saw Ms. M. on Friday.”

“Friday.  Yes, must have been.”

 

Proof that she was really listening

[Front pew, center section, during Sunday's sermon]

“In the first part of today’s reading,” the pastor began, “there are three main characters.  There’s a landowner, a gardener, and … a tree.”

“A TREE!!!” Riya exclaimed.

Over the congregation’s laughter, without missing a beat, he said, “Yes, a tree.  Right on cue!” and continued with the lesson.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

My kids watched me do a new yoga workout today.  I lost my balance at one point, and a child who shall remain nameless said, laughingly, “Mom!  You can’t do it.”

Lesson #1: Your mom is a person.  With feelings.  It is OK that you don’t know this; I spent the first couple of years of your life making sure you knew I was there for you no matter what, no matter when.  You had to know that, first and foremost, and now we will move on to the subtler lessons, like the difference between being sure of someone and taking someone for granted.

Lesson #2: When you try new things, you are probably going to screw up.

Lesson #3: That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try new things, and it doesn’t mean you should quit.

Lesson #4: I’m your mom, and you should respect me just for that.  And you should treat me with respect because … that’s what good people do.  But also, look at me.  My feelings were hurt, I was embarrassed, and honestly, that shit was hard, and I didn’t quit.  In 10 years, when you think of this, remember that, and respect me because I earned it.

Kid for a Day

At breakfast this morning, the idea was floated that the grown-ups and kids should switch places for the day.  The suggestion was met with great enthusiasm on both sides.

So, as we finished eating, I said, “OK, so what I usually do now is I load the dishwasher, and then I wash all the dishes that can’t go into the dishwasher.  Then I was going to go downstairs and get the rest of the clothes out of the dryer so I could fold them.”

“Wait, we have to fold all those?”

“If you’re going to be the grown-ups, yeah.”

“We wanted to be the FUN grown-ups!”

“It’s kind of a package deal.  There’s fun stuff, I’m not gonna lie, but it comes with jobs, too.”

“Oh.”

And suddenly their “kid” job of clearing the table did not seem so onerous to them.

Damn.

Srsly.

A couple of things before we begin.  1) This is not about Sandy Hook.  I tried to write about it, honest to God I did, but I don’t think it was going to do anybody any real good for me to publish it.  If you’re not ready to move on yet – well, me either, really, so I get it.  Stop reading here, and forgive me, please.  2) Almost two months since my last post.  Yup.  OK.

Day 1 of a Secret Santa exchange.  Another participant comes to me, the gift she received clutched in her hand.

“Do you know who gave me this?”

“Um, no.  It’s supposed to be secret, right?”

“Well, look at it!  Everybody else got these nice wrapped gifts, and mine is in this little tin!  And look inside it – all I got was [details omitted to prevent positive identification - rest assured the gift was appropriate to a 4-day exchange where the total budget was $10-15].”

“Maybe you should wait and see what you are getting on the other days.”

“No!  I am offended!  This is rude.” [Jeepers, did it honestly never occur to her that it might have been from me (it wasn't)?  Or did she think it was, and this was her way of letting me know I'd better step it up?]

“I think you are taking this the wrong way.  I’m sure whoever gave it to you thought it was a cute little tin, and that’s why they didn’t wrap it.  And I’m sure they thought you would like the gift.”

“That’s your opinion?”

“That is my opinion.”

“Ok…”

I wish I were making this up.  Am I completely off my rocker here?  In my universe, you get a gift, you say thank you, you move on.  You don’t like it?  Okey-dokey, regift it.  Return it.  The giver never needs to know.  Criminey.

Oh, and Merry Christmas.