Remember when I posted this post?
Well bad news, someone stole $50K worth of camping and playground equipment from them. They need to replace that stuff.
If you can’t donate, can you post a link in your blog?
I remember having the talk with my parents.
When I was pregnant for the first time I actually thought about how I would deal with the talk with my kids.
I dread the day I have to have the talk with Lil Miss.
I realized there’s just no good way to say it.
Our “people” got where they are today by slaughtering millions of people who had every right to hate us and want to kill us. Because originally there was enough room for all of us but we weren’t content with that. We felt threatened by their very existence. There were decent folk who were willing to live in harmony (on both sides) but overall, war was what prevailed. And we “won”. Because we had “superior firepower”. We also had other countries backing us. So of course we “won”
Why the right to claim this land as OURS. The right to make the rules. The right to go back and whitewash history to make us look like “the good guys”
“Are there any of those people left?” is the inevitable question.
“yes, actually there are. A very very few. We pushed them into tiny patches of land that we didn’t want”
And I will have to explain how we acted as if this was very magnanimous on our part. How we have a history of pushing Stockholm syndrome on the people who were here first. I can spend all day talking about the various nuances of the history. I can talk about how some of the “other side” were in fact scary horrible people who never had any intention of letting us live in peace. I can talk about how some of “our side” were good decent folk who really wanted the rest of our people to stop warring the original inhabitants. Even so, I will have to talk about greed and how discovery of the land’s riches made most people willing to step all over anyone in order to be the first in line to lay claim to more of the sanctified earth. How even our moral views were warped enough to pretend that we had some intrinsic right to be here and take over this land. How our pretense at compromise was torn down again and again as we decided again and again that the tiny patches of land we gave them were actually worth something to us after all. Our pretense that we were ever interested in letting the other side continue as a people
I will have to explain how our people also had others backing us, how we would never run out of firepower. I can explain how we used propaganda to paint the other side as evil and savage and bloodthirsty. I can talk about how our people came to truly believe the other side weren’t even human beings, just disgusting animals worthy of death. I will definitely talk about how we incorporated this disdain and disgust into our culture so that generations to come would also distrust, despise and demean the other side – so that our children and their children’s children would never successfully make peace.
This talk will happen. Its part of where we come from. Its not the only history we have. It doesn’t negate the good things we have done any more than the good things negate this part. I hope that when we have this talk, my daughter will be suitably horrified and sad that our cultural lives rose from the bloody pyre of vanquished people whose only crime were to be here before us, live differently than us, and want different things from life than we did.
Then the inevitable end question will come.
“We don’t still do this, do we?”
Lil Miss: Okay here’s a joke. When did the doorknob say to the puppet?
Me: I don’t know, what?
Lil Miss: No, not ‘what’ WHEN?
Me: okay, when?
Lil Miss: when he was on the SPOOL bus! Get it? get it? SPOOL BUS?
Me: it seems like you almost got one right that time..
Lil Miss: isn’t it funny? *laughs*
I began the following when my daughter was 2-3 yrs old. I put it aside because I wanted to make sure I still felt this way after time had passed. I do so here it is
Lil Miss just came up the stairs carrying her portable DVD player (we bought it for her second-ever car trip to florida and it was probably the best $30 we spent all that year)
Lil Miss: Hi mom!
Me: hey, wassup?
Lil Miss: I just doing my homework!
Lil Miss: See dat princess? Dat’s me.
Me: ah, I get it now.
My daughter is very “girly”. Non-PC or not, that’s the term for it and when I use it, everyone knows what I mean; she likes pink, wants to be a princess, loves to play dress-up, likes nail polish, has an obsession for shoes, collects hairbands with flowers on them, prefers to wear skirts and dresses, color-coordinates her clothes, anything shiny or sparkly gets her vote, loves having long hair, draws homey scenes with the family and flowers and rainbows, is always on the look-out for the latest Disney Princess doll to add to her stash, et cet.
I have a very uncomfortable relationship with this. Yes, I am a feminist (first wave trying to move to third wave) and I heartily support women’s equality in all things (duh).
I am also a development wonk. Any time there’s a new article, study or finding of any kind on sociological and psychological/psychiatric issues, I am all over that like white on rice. The things I’ve learned through the years (decades, really) have completely turned my head around, though.
When I was younger, I firmly believed gender was a complete social construct, that men and women were absolutely no different and everything that smelt of gender roles was entirely induced by society. As I’ve grown and become more educated, I’ve discovered (right alongside of science) that this is in fact, not entirely true: men and women ARE intrinsically different in some ways. The sexes are generally the same but there are some key differences that cannot be explained by nurture alone. This has been borne out by the scientific method over and over and in recent years it has some basis in evolutionary psychology as well. We can not only see how men and women are different but we can begin to understand how and why those differences have been fine-tuned through humankind’s descent from the trees. So consider that by the time my daughter was in utero, I had come to a place of understanding about gender and the “roles” of the sexes. I wasn’t pleased about it (who likes hearing that certain traits are ‘stuck” within you?) but because of my struggle against my behaviorist past I can at least accept this intellectually.
However, the whole notion that “girly” is somehow innate is extremely bothersome to me. In all my readings and study I simply have not come across anything that “explains” how and why the tendency to be “femme” exists in women from a innate standpoint. It remains firmly fixed in my psyche that “girly” is a learned thing. Perhaps some inclination to “girly” things is merely personal preference, but to go whole hog into the world of barbie and pink and frills seems to me just so… forced.
So when I knew I was going to have a girl, I naturally assumed that MY girl was going to be a great feminist, nurtured into embracing her “macho” self at least as much as her “girly” self. I will admit right here: I hoped and expected she was going to be a little “tomboy” (I know its an old term, look it up) just like I was. Sure, I was an extreme tomboy but I chalked that up to my lack of maternal nurturing in the early, formative years. So she’d probably like some “girly” things but I was absolutely certain she’d be more “macho” than “femme”. Knowing how society subtly pushes that persona on little girls, I also had a fairly comprehensive plan to help this happen. It involved avoiding the mainstream media, carefully selecting that which I thought to be properly progressive and feminist-friendly as well as exposing her on a regular basis to all things “boyish” with the help of my many mom-friends. Several of my mom-friends have girls too and the more we talked about it, the more I was certain that we were going to have little trouble counter-balancing the outside world’s mantra of “be a girly girl”.
Of course, like pretty much all parenting ideals, this was not going to happen the way I wanted it to.
My daughter seemed to come into the world the femmie-est of the femmes. First off, she was strikingly beautiful, for a newborn. This is not mama pride talking, this is me remembering every comment made about her looks with a lot of SURPRISE in the tone. People expect babies to be cute (most of them) but they don’t expect them to be beautiful. She was absolutely gorgeous from day one. I have pics to prove it. Nurses embarrassed themselves by saying “wow, she sure is pretty! most of the babies around here aren’t really but she is actually pretty!” -followed by a blush and an expression that said “please don’t tell people I think most babies aren’t pretty” And they were right; most babies pass through a bizarro alien-type phase wherein features are not matching or sized in proportion before they get “pretty” but my daughter? never passed through that. That was a little jarring, really. I have three sons before her and though they were adorable babies, they took a bit of time to stop looking like overboiled versions of Winston Churchill.
The next thing I noticed was her viewing preferences. Like my boys before her, I did not plan on her watching any broadcast or cable tv that had not been completely screened by me first. In this wonderful day and age, that is a lot easier to accomplish than when my boys were growing up. We found many fantastic kid videos on youtube, many from other countries. Well, before she was a year old, language didn’t matter to her anyway. So lots of Pigloo, Ilona Montricey, babe Lilly, Yo Gabba Gabba!, Elmo – you get the idea. She LOVED watching videos as young as six months when she couldn’t even crawl yet. I’d sit next to her on the floor and we’d watch together. I’d sing along, sometimes translate a little (just in case, you know, she was a language whiz or something) and clap her hands along… the usual mommy-kid fun. Before long, we had a nice collection of cool kid-vids for her. Very convenient when mommy wants a break.
It didn’t take long to realize she had a definite preference for pretty girls. Aside from Elmo and YGG, the girl was nuts for any video featuring “girly girls”. Our first tip was when her father was at the grocery store with her. She saw the DVD rack and leaned towards a video with Abby Cadabby on it. She’d never seen Abby Cadabby before but out of all the videos on that rack, she sure as hell noticed her and made it clear she wanted that video. So her dad bought it and we all watched. Abby Cadabby is pink. Abby is a fairy (in training) and Abby says things like “hmph!” and Abby laughs all the time, much like Elmo but in a very high-pitched, girly kind of giggle. Specifically, Abby says “hee heeeeee!” Lil Miss, ADORED Abby Cadabby. Don’t get me wrong, she loved Elmo too, but Abby was clearly FOR HER.
Next thing you know, she’s looking at the DVD rack every time she’s taken to the grocery store. Mind you we are talking about a baby who can’t walk yet. She made very clear her preferences. She wanted pretty girls. We held firm in some respects – no barbie vids or bratz or anything remotely fake like that – but how can you say no to Dora? Dora wears pants! Dora is adventurous! Dora teaches sequential logic!
Yeah she barely liked Dora.
Next thing I know, she’s showing decided preferences for her clothing choices. Next thing I know, she’s intentionally coordinating her clothes by color. Next thing I know, she’s drawing nothing but flowers and cats. Next thing I know she’s demanding to have a princess outfit. A princess outfit? How in the world did she even know what a princess was?! I thought I was so careful!
You know where she saw her first princess? Yo Gabba Gabba. They have ONE character on the whole show who is a fairy princess. The entire show has tons of super-cool females doing really nifty empowering stuff like martial arts, rock drumming, skateboarding, marathon racing et cet but the one girl she decides she wants to emulate? The fairy princess with a wand. The princess who appeared maybe all of three times on the show. That’s all it took.
Next thing I know, we’re swimming in Disney princess stuff. We didn’t even have the movies for half the dolls she liked. Next thing I know, I find myself avoiding the “pink aisle” at every store because I can’t stomach another “WanT~! want!! WANT!” of some overpriced pink crap with glitter that catches her eye. How did she get into that aisle?” by noticing it was pink from across the whole freakin store and booking ass into it just to check it out. Why? Because she loved pink. That too, was something we had tried to avoid. Now, pink exists in clothing for kids as surely as all the other colors so its not like I was going to avoid having ANY pink. Truth be told, when she was a baby I didn’t avoid it at all. But once she was crawling age, we moved, of course, to clothing suitable for that phase which means pants and regular shirts. We stopped having pink hardly at all. She stopped wearing dresses or skirts or anything “girly” because it was impractical and most of her clothes were regifted from friends who had boys older than her. But somehow, between the learning-to-walk stage and the running stage (stage? that’s a stage? it ends?) she “discovered the joy of girly clothes.
We gave her pink stuff not because we loved her in pink (actually I like her best in black- it sets off her brown eyes nicely) but because she’d throw a holy hell fit if we didn’t let her dress in pink most times. We didn’t put her in skirts because WE loved her in skirts but because it was a way to make sure she didn’t freeze her butt off in cold weather – leggings or tights under the skirt is apparently permissible but not under a dress so we compromised. Next thing I know we’re drowning in Hello Kitty (which I admit, I like too) not because we’re such huge fans (although I think her father kind of is) but because it too was a compromise foisted upon her to draw attention away from other, less “respectable” commercial fare. (Besides, pink, kitties, what’s not to love?)
Every time I thought we had steered her into more neutral arenas (Minecraft, Duplo, Thomas the Train) she’d veer off into “girly” land again. Truth be told, it was getting ridiculous.
At some point, I really thought long and hard about the whole situation. As always, when you’re a parent, I struggled with the notion of imposing my will upon her. Was it “fair” of me to restrict her choices so much or was I trying to maintain a healthy balance in her life? Was I really working against the societal pressures to be “girly” or was I just trying to cut and paste MY values over her own bona fide desires? How wrong was it to let her indulge in the petty superficial trappings of femininity? She’s a child, barely out of toddlerdom and I’m really sitting here freaking out because of what color she wants to wear?
The turning point came when I got into a fracas on Facebook. A dear friend of mine posted something about this whole dilemma and the doors opened, of course, for internet mud-slinging. I admit to having a certain sensitivity to the accusation of gender-biased parenting, after all, that’s exactly what I was struggling with. But at some point in the throw-down, some stranger I don’t even know in essence told me I was foolish for believing my child was actually CHOOSING to be “girly”. No matter how much I detailed my efforts to avoid putting the pink on my child, I was told it didn’t matter, society was doing the dirty work for me. It didn’t take long before someone was insinuating that I was lax in my feminist duty and had more or less “allowed’ this to happen anyway.
I bowed out of further discussion. It just riled me far too much to attempt to have an intelligent exchange on the matter. After some thought, I realized something important though; the other people, the ones who were so smugly painting a huge “FAIL” on my feminist mommy-card were JUST as angry and JUST as clouded by their own ire to be really having an intelligent conversation about this subject. I briefly wondered why but overall, it didn’t matter. Because I had been busy second-guessing myself for so long and because I couldn’t really find a negotiating meadow for my concerns, it was so easy for someone else’s ire to color my own confidence. Yet their confidence was betrayed by their own volume level. Suddenly, I had every reason to trust my own choices and beliefs and no reason whatsoever to keep accepting the blows from someone else’s feelings of failure. I found it interesting how anger was what clarified the issue for me. As if the darkness of impotent rage created a silhouette for me to trace and the profile was the answer I’d been looking for all along.
And the answer in all this?
Maturity. Children Don’t have it yet.
I know, of course, society pressures us. It pressures children. It pressures adults. It sure as hell pressures parents.
But who is “society” anyway? Everyone but me?
The pressure of society radiates outward. This, I truly believe. There is some strength in numbers, sure, but the truest strength lies in connection. As connections between people moves outward, the ability to influence becomes weaker. The more you move outward in society, away from connection, the easier it becomes to make your own choices. Yes, strength in numbers -having 100 people yelling at you means more than having one person yell at you – but true strength, lasting strength? Is in the connections.
So what’s the strongest connection?
What is the strongest form of self-connection?
All along, while I was obsessing over my child’s choices and the options before her, I should have been looking at her ability to make those choices. Her confidence, her self-esteem, her self-trust, all those things are what determine how well we follow our own dreams. All things being equal, the ability to make good choices boils down to the ability to know what you want, understand the options and be brave enough to choose what’s right for you. That means more than anything society yells at us.
First off, my children (at all ages) are going to make mistakes. I love being allowed to watch them do that and learn from their mistakes. It is my honor to be one of the people who can help them back up when they fall and watch them try again. It is one of the greatest pleasures in my life to be one of the people to which my children turn to in times of indecision and uncertainty. Whenever possible, though, I do my best to not give them the answers, but open the doors they need, turn the lights on and let them understand the world in front of them. Sometimes that’s meant I’ve had to pull them away from pitfalls they didn’t understand, turn them back from paths they cannot travel or maybe just warn them against consequences they can’t possibly predict. I’ve even been wrong on some occasions. Happily, joyously wrong. Those are the best times because not only have my children surprised me with their ability to bounce through rugged terrain, they’ve surprised themselves. But falling or bouncing, they’ve always been able to see that the roads are for them to choose.
So where are we with all this?
Again: maturity. choice.
All those times I felt uneasy because my daughter chose things I associate with negative context, SHE was choosing those things. If other people want to believe she was pushed or coerced or whatever that’s their baggage to carry. The whole point of my “job” as a mother has been to make sure my child chooses with the best of options, the best of knowledge and the best of her confidence. So if she chose things that society maybe pushes, those choices were still HERS. And that’s what I should have been “worrying” about all along. Except I didn’t worry about it. Because its a part of what I see as my goal anyway. I wasn’t worrying about it, I was doing it. My job, was to use MY maturity to make sure her choices were as free as I could possibly make them and allow her those choices even if I didn’t like them. Because she is a child and I am an adult. Our preferences are not going to be the same no matter what I do. Even if she was a carbon copy of me she’s still a child while I am an adult. She does not have the same criterion, the same experiences nor the same internal self-regard I do, to prefer the things I do. I like sushi, I couldn’t get her to like sushi if I dipped it in cinnamon sugar and deep fried it. This is how it is. She likes to have tea parties. The only reason I ever sit down to drink watery tea with stuffed animals is because I love my daughter but frankly there are days I’d rather roll myself in cinnamon sugar and get deep fried than endure another minute of the stultifying game she loves so much. The difference between us isn’t that my daughter has been pushed harder than I am (or was) to accept stratified gender norms, the difference is that she is a child and she has different tastes than I do as an adult and as a wholly different person. Maturity. Choice. I have one, she has the other. Between the two of us, I think we can handle her decisions about what color she wears to school.
So lastly, there’s the issue of all those other feminists who want to argue this into the ground. Yes, my daughter has often chosen to enjoy superficial things that society pushes upon girls. She’s a child and she is supposed to like superficial things. I don’t know any child five and under who doesn’t like superficial things. I mean, I tried reading Plato and Lao Tzu to my boys when they were little and it just didn’t go over, you know? Heck I could barely keep them awake with Bob Dylan lyrics.
“deep” stuff just isn’t what kids like. Why is Disney so beloved? Because what they show us is a world that is simple, codifiable and romantic. Children respond to those things because they are, well, children. And superficial things don’t have to stop being attractive either. As we grow, we add to our recreational loves, we rarely subtract. More importantly, we add as we grow, at a pace that matches our maturation. So to expect a child to appreciate adult values and mores is to expect the impossible. I don’t want to be forever pushing my kids to act like adults because they aren’t. Its something I see people forget all the time.
Children are not looking at Tiana and Belle and Diego with love and awe because they are sharp minds, with a wonderful work ethic and plenty of charity in their souls, children look at them because they are attractive. The deeper qualities are something the children pick up on later, over time. The deeper qualities are what lead us to have long-standing respect and love for a character (real or imaginary) but it is the outward characteristics that get us – especially children – to pay attention in the first place.
This idea that little kids can only respect greatness if its wrapped in a pretty bow with sparkles is as ridiculous as the idea that little kids will only ever want to eat sugared snacks for every meal ever because they like candy. Some people grow up with some overblown expectations but most people do this crazy thing called maturing and it means that they can appreciate subtle, unseen qualities no matter what the surface looks like. This journey from superficial, obvious enjoyment to the deeper, more complex respect is a part of growing. To act as if there is something wrong with little kids because they like pretty sparkly things is to act as if there’s something wrong with them being kids. Kids also prefer stars, hearts, basic shapes, bold colors, smiles, smoothness and sameness as well as flowers and kittens. As they grow their personalities change and they find beauty in other areas they didn’t see before. This is part of becoming an individual. We are putting adult values and perspectives on kids again when we flip out so hard about the princess phenomenon. Its not the princesses versus the GI Joes, its offering everything and showing everything and waiting for their immature minds to catch up.
What matters is giving them all the options, accepting what they choose and always be ready to accept their changes. Because they will change. I doubt my daughter will ever stop loving Disney princesses – I still love Alice from Wonderland – but she will add to that love over time. She will begin to appreciate other, deeper qualities as she matures. I must be ready to accept this slow journey without judging her or myself and trust that over time she will become confident and love herself enough to not need approval from anyone. Not even me.
my daughter is now six. she still loves dressing up, playing with dolls and having an occasional tea party. She also loves Minecraft, Batman, and clashing light sabers or pirate swords
Lil Miss: Look at what I’m doing!
Me: hmm.. uh well that’s nice but I kind of need this… please don’t write on my notes any more
Lil Miss: okay but you needed periods. And question marks. You forgot all the periods.
Me: well you are so right, I did. Thanks for fixing that.
Lil Miss: no problem!
Me: here, have some blank paper.
Lil Miss and I are at the grocery store. This is always a dicey thing because she has a tendancy to get a little demanding at the grocery store. We always talk about behavior before we go in. Sometimes she tells me what she wants (I get her one thing of her own every trip, just like my mom did for me) and sometimes she’s not sure. Other times, she wants many things and we have to whittle it down. Good exercise in patience, negotiation and priorities. She learns from it to, I’d bet.
So we’re at the grocery store and I can tell this trip could go either way; she’s a bit amped up and unsure as to what she wants, changing her mind every couple of seconds prompting me to remind her she only gets ONE thing. Most often, its a toy. Okay, yeah I’m a softie and sometimes I end up getting her a thing AND a treat. It depends on how smooth the trip goes.
She’s pretty excited, and I’m trying to keep her focused. First she wants fruit. Not a treat, so of course I buy fruit. I usually put my foot down about buying more than two kinds depending on what kind she wants. She has a tendency to like the expensive stuff.
So then we’re walking along, chattering about this and that, when she asks if we can get some ice cream. “Sure!” says I. So far as I’m concerned, ice cream is one of the four food groups: protein/dairy, grains, fruits/veggies, and yummy. Its also a good time to help her with patience and anticipation: the ice cream aisle is at the end of the labyrinth and during our walk she invariably wants something else. One reminder “do you want that thing, or ice cream?” and she usually puts it back. So getting ice cream is actually a developmentally enriching exercise you see.
We get to the ice cream aisle and pick out our flavors. She generally only likes vanilla which is good because I only like to buy brands that use sugar rather than HFCS. I don’t give a shit whether or not HFCS is the devil or not, I just hate how addictive it is. And it makes ice cream seem gummy to me. I don’t like it. I want my daughter to have good taste is all. So she gets her vanilla (Turkey Hill natural brand) and I get my coffee flavor (same brand) and we start on our way. I always try to move quickly after getting the ice cream because at the end of the aisle no matter what store you are in, there are the toppings, cones and whatnot which pretty much ruin any chance I have at acting like ice cream isn’t a peripherally dairy-enhanced sugar-bomb. Lil Miss is now six years old and I have been successful all her life at not letting her know those things even exist on that aisle. Don’t get me wrong, she knows about toppings, sprinkles, cones and syrups, she just didn’t know they could be got at the store.
Well guess what she discovered that day? M’yep.
“Oohhh!” she said while I was looking carefully at the wahp biscuits and wondering if I should get them or stop being lazy and make my own. By the tone of her voice and how it trailed away from me as she said it, I knew what had happened. I looked up and saw her slowly moving towards that shelf at the end of the frozen treats freezers. Her arms outstretched, eyes huge and dark like some character from an anime, she was clearly enraptured as she moved, almost zombie-like, to the flame of the sundae-makings. I winced.
“maaaahhhm… loooooook!” she said dreamily with her hands carresssing a box of cones. The kind which every kid looks longingly at until they finally get to taste one. I believe the brand name is “tastee-cone” and once you bite into it you realize your ice cream would have been better served atop a styrofoam cup. I doubt there is any disappointment for an ice-cream-lover quite like biting into their first tastee-cone.
There was no way in hell I was buying those deceptive cones.
“uh, Lil Miss, I’m not getting any of that stuff”
“no. We don’t need any of that stuff.”
“oh. Okay.” She slumped, and turned to come back to the cart. But before she did, something caught her eye, a little higher up the shelves.
“MOM!” she yelled
“What?” I said, inching my way out of the aisle, hoping her easy defeat was all I’d have to deal with but I might as well have been hoping the wind wouldn’t blow in January.
“Look! What is this?” she tilted her head, leaned forward and started reading aloud.
“Ice Cream M-m?”
“Sound it out” I said on autopilot and moved closer to find out what fascinating thing I was about to be begged for.
“Ice Cream Mm-aa-gick! Ice Cream magic!” she said triumphantly. “oooo! Mom I WANT THIS! I WANT ICE CREAM MAGIC!”
I walked up, looked at the box of “ice cream magic”. ON the box were two kids clearly in ice cream ecstasy. The object in question appeared to be a plastic ice cream cone. What the hell? I plucked it off the shelf, turned it sideways and read.
“oh, this is an ice cream maker”
“I KNOW! I KNOW! YOU PUT THE ICE CREAM STUFF IN IT AND SHAKE IT TO MAKE ICE CREAM! CAN WE GET IT! CANWEGETITPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!!!PLEEEEEEEEZ!?”
She was actually jumping up and down.
The price was $20. Jayzuz tap-dancing cripes. It was clearly cheap China-made crap worthy of a late night commerical by Ronco. It made aproximately two scoops of ice cream. You had to shake it. I could just see this. We’d put the stuff in, shake the shit out of it until our arms were sore and then open it, and find a goopy mass of whatever. Meanwhile Lil Miss would have gotten bored (and who would blame her?) and expect me to finish it up. There was also the distinct possibility it would leak or be broken when we took it home. Or she’d get a little too exuberant and drop it on the floor. Or the wall. OMG the mess that would make. At the very least, we could get the SAME effect by using objects around the house we already own. Lastly, we HAVE an electric ice cream maker. So this thing? Pointless, apt to be disappointing (more so than the tastee-cones) and possibly a huge mess.
I’d buy a real crank-style ice cream maker before I’d buy this cheap plastic junk.
So you can imagine the drama that ensued when I said no. The tears, the protests, the arguing, the yelling. All in all, not as bad as I thought since there was no planking on the floor and no attempts to get me in a headlock. Either she was tired or just feeling more mature.
That was four days ago. Since that time she’s been to a birthday party where she got pinata candy, stitched together a Hello Kitty doll of her own, and had at least one bowl of ice cream per day.
Today, I got a text from J:
“what’s ice cream magic?”