What actually happened:
While sitting on the passenger side of my mothers-in-law’s car, waiting for my daughter’s school bus to arrive at the usual stop, a little boy who looked to be about 4 ran away from (who I assumed to be) his grandmother and pounded on my window, yelling, “Put it down!” I rolled down my window; he yelled some nonsense at me, and then told me to put the window up. I thought we were finished, but he yelled at me to put it down. I shook my head. At this point, his grandmother, who was dragging a smaller version of the boy alongside her, said something like “Come, along now” and the boy ran away. The smaller version, however, bent down and picked up a pebble, chucking it at our car. The grandmother grabbed him by the hand and pulled him away. I turned to my mother-in-law and said “He just threw a rock at the car.” She said, “Really?” The end.
What happens when I re-live the scene in my imagination:
The little boy bangs on my window. I shake my head. He bangs again, yelling for me to put down the window. I put it down and tell him, “Hello, you probably shouldn’t be banging on my window and yelling at me. I’m a stranger, and you shouldn’t talk to strangers – let alone boss them around and pound on their cars. (loudly enough so Grandma can hear) I’m surprised your grandmother let you do that (giving Grandma the stink-eye). She probably thinks it’s cute, but it’s not.” As they walk away, the smaller boy picks up a rock and chucks it at the car. The grandmother doesn’t correct him, so I step out of the car and say, “Really?!? He just threw a rock at our car, but you’re not going to make him apologize or even acknowledge that he did it? Maybe I should throw a rock at your kid, lady, and call it even! They’re little boys, not wild dogs – teach them to behave!” I don’t know what happens after that, because I’ve never have the cojones to actually say things like that to people so I have no experience with these things.
My mother-in-law and I took the kids shopping for Easter outfits this evening. It was a very successful outing, with both kids coming home with very nice, age-appropriate outfits (purchased by my extremely generous – and awesome – mother-in-law).
For My Daughter:
For My Son:
I admit I felt a bit of sadness as we shopped in the department store for my 6-year-old daughter, who is quickly approaching the “big-girl” sizes. Up to a 6x, it is still possible to find very cute, age-appropriate outfits for girls. Once you hit the big 7, though, things go from cute and comfy to questionable and just plain ugly. My daughter is extremely opinionated about her fashion choices and, to my horror, she bee-lined right to a larger sized dress that looked like a bad 80s prom nightmare.
This is not the actual dress she ran to (this actually would be a cute beach dress), but I couldn’t find a picture of that one. The one she ran to was shaped like this one, but was made of some kind of weird rainbow lame’ that looked remarkably like one of those swirly Fruit Roll-Ups. Hideous. Not only was this dress terrible, but it was floating in a sea of really terrible, swirly/sparkly awful dresses that were attempting to take over the whole dress section of the store.
Sure, maybe this is the dress for some girls, but not mine. She’s still young enough that I can say “absolutely not” and she doesn’t give me a hard time. Plus, she still fits in sizes with options that both of us agree on.
The future of our shopping relationship doesn’t look too bright, however. I’ll have to ask my mother if clothing was that ugly when I was a pre-teen, and if I gave her a hard time. If I did, I guess I can count on karma visiting me in a few years.
This exchange between my 6-year-old daughter and me happened a while ago, but it’s still totally worth posting:
So we’re standing in the make-up aisle of the local drug store…
6yo: (points to some cuticle trimmers) Mommy, are those for cutting off your nipples?
Me: WHAT?!? Why would you want to cut off your nipples?
6yo: you know, to try to get rid of them.
Me: you can’t get rid of them. They’re supposed to be there.
6yo: (exasperated) But how come sometimes they go away?
Me: (pause)………Do you mean pimples?
6yo: Oh yeah. Pimples.
Me: You don’t cut them off. You’re not even supposed to pick at them, although Daddy does.
6yo: Oh. (walks to the end of the aisle where her father is) Daddy! (shouting) You know you’re NOT supposed to pick off your NIPPLES!!!