Copy rat

The other day after school the kids got home and my son decided it was time to play house and take care of his stuffed cat, aptly named Kitty. When his sister was born I got him a sling just like mine, but mini-sized, so that he could schlep around his things like I schlepped his sister. He wasn't much interested. But in the last year he's taken it out a few times as a favorite prop when playing house.

So I put it on him and stuffed his cat in with his head peeking out. So cute. Then my daughter wanted one too because she's in the me too stage. So I fashioned a sling for her out of a bandanna and we stuffed her rat Julio in there with his head peeking out. So cute. And the two of them proceeded to while away the rest of the afternoon taking care of their precious cargo. The cat and the rat remained even for dinner time. And I watched in amazement as my daughter did exactly everything that my son did. He picked up his glass of milk for a sip; she picked up hers. He pointed to the window and told me about the crow he saw; she pointed and blabbered something unintelligible, presumably about the crow. He ate his fish and cucumbers; she ate her fish and cucumbers. And she doesn't even like fish.

My son figured out this pattern and asked why little sisters always copy big brothers. That's how they learn, by watching and copying someone bigger. The same way that you learn by watching and copying Mommy and Aba. To which he replied, and that's why I need my own cell phone so I can watch and copy and learn from you. And then I swear I saw him wink.

I'm sending him to law school.

Gender Bender

My son loves earrings. And purses, And wearing princess slippers. He likes wearing barrettes in his hair. Oh and nail polish. He loves to wear nail polish. And I let him do all these things because I can see that it makes him happy. And at the same time I'm very attuned to the language I use surrounding these things. I never say stuff like princess slippers are only for girls. Or that boys don't paint their nails. Or carry gold purses with a cameo of Sleeping Beauty on the side (yes, that's what he picked out with my Disney Store credit). He is who he is so I just let him do his thing. When he plays in the front yard in his Thomas underwear and platform shoes we sometimes get stares, but he doesn't notice and I prefer it like that for now.

A while back I bought him a pair of red clip-on earrings because he was forever bugging me about wanting a pair of earrings. And he just about died when he saw them. But the clip comes off the plastic earring so I end up having to glue them about once a month. And he only wears them a few days a month but today was the day he really REALLY wanted to wear them and he just would not stop bugging me about it. Mommy, can you get the glue gun? Mommy I want you to glue my earrings. Mommy, I have the earring - can you get the clippy part? Mommy the glue gun is ready. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. And before that he'd been bugging me about wanting to drive in my car and could he please call grandma on my phone and he needs a new coat of nail polish. I just about snapped. And I came to understand that it's less about him wanting to act like a woman and more about him wanting to act like a grown-up. I know it's pretend and it's healthy. I know all that. But at a certain point it's just enough. Act like a goddamn kid. Do kid things. I know that dress up is a kid thing but do it with your dress up toy jewelry, not my jewelry. And wear your damn princess slippers and not my work shoes. So I told him as much. Enough. You need to play with your own stuff. With kid stuff. Play with toys. Trucks. Dolls. Princess make-up. I don't care - just be a kid. Because being an adult actually sucks. You have to work. You have to clean the house and pay bills and buy groceries and mow the lawn. Sometimes you have to refinance. And watch what you eat. And dye your hair. So enjoy being a kid! You can run around naked and no one cares. You can sing songs all day long and everyone claps for you when you pee in a toilet and for the love of ginger you could bounce a quarter off your tushy. What I wouldn't give for a tushy like that! Okay maybe the last part of the speech was in my head.

He listened and stopped bugging me for a short while. And I did get around to gluing his earrings which made him endlessly happy. And even happier later when we were at his pal Aidan's birthday party and he saw her dad wearing earrings.

Him: Look Aidan's daddy's a boy and he wears earrings with holes in his ears.

Me: No, Aidan's dad is a grown-up and he wears pierced earrings. And when you're a grown-up you can too.

With all the excitement he let some pee pee escape. So I took him to the bathroom to finish what he started. Indeed his undies were a little wet. Can I just go commando? That's my boy.

Bathtub conversations

I was writing the previous blog while my son was in the tub playing the other night when he started getting into a hard core dramatization with his rubber duckies. So I dropped what I was writing and just started to transcribe. This was his conversation:

• Did you make poo poo big duck?
• Yea, you didn't!
• You're a big boy.
• You need to go poop in the potty.
• You're a big duck.
• Oh no, you made poo poo in the tub little duck!
• I'm going to put my legs on you because you made poop in the tub and you're a stinko.
• Guys, stay there, I'm going to put my legs on you.
• I'm not going to change you because it's not okay.
• That's so sad.
• Should I change you? No I'm not.
• Now you're crying and you want me to change you.
• Okay fine.
• Wow, that was a big one little duckie. Let me get the wipes.
• You're done.
• Now it's your turn. Oh boy, you need wipes too.
• You guys are big boys.
• Oh shoot.
• Okay, you're done.
• I have to clean you still okay duckie?
• You can't swim now because I have to change you because there's poo poo on you.
• Mommy! I need to get out of the tub because little duck made a poo poo and it's yucky in here now.

Classic.