I've Come For An Argument

For a kid who can barely muster the nerve to say "good morning" to her own teachers, Bug is weirdly confident about other stuff. Like the fact that I am totally and completely wrong about everything.

"Sweetie, don't crawl under the bed. It's very dusty under there."
"No, it's not."
Really? So that 2-inch thick layer of gray fuzz on the floor? What is that, exactly?

"We can't go outside, it's raining really hard right now."
"No, it's not."
Then why did our neighbor's trash cans just go floating down the street?

"I can't read any more, I'm too tired. I'm about to fall asleep."
"No, you're not."
Kid, did you miss the part when I said, "...down the hill, tumble bumble, pellzzzzzzzzz...."?

"Darlin', you can't wear those stripey purple pants with the starry orange shirt and pink Hello Kitty socks. It just doesn't go together."
"Yes, it does."
If you're headed to try outs at clown college, maybe. But not for lunch at Oma's house.

I actually used to argue with her about these things, which is ridiculous. It was like a Monty Python sketch.
"It's time to go home, bunny."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"No, 'tisn't!"
"Yes, 'tis!!"

Unlike Michael Palin and John Cleese, there is nothing side-splittingly funny about our arguments. The debates would get heated, I'd raise my voice and make ugly, angry faces, I'd realize that I'd let myself get into an argument with a four-year-old and get even madder. Now, I try to just keep going. Distract, redirect, dip into the bag of tricks and see what works this time.

"I made meatballs and pasta for dinner..."
"No, you didn't."
"...and delicious cookies for dessert."
"Oh, yay!"

"Yuck. The cat threw up on the floor."
"No, he didn't."
"I'll just clean this up and we can go to the park."
"Yay!"

Our pediatrician says the Bug doesn't really doubt everything I say, it's just her goofy four-year-old way of striking up the conversation. It gets to me, though. It does. I already doubt almost everything I do, particularly as a parent. So when she expresses doubt in me, too...well, it hurts.

I'm trying to look at this positively: she's not gullible. She doesn't take everything at face value. She's going to question everything until she gets to the bottom of things. That's all good, right?

Right?

Hearts Were Made to be Broken

People say that having kids makes you young again. That's pretty much true. You giggle madly with them at the most ridiculous stuff. You lay down on the sidewalk to get a good view of ants soldiering back and forth with their bits of food. You sing "This Old Man" and ABCs with gusto. You eat hot dogs and mac 'n cheese for dinner. You have tea parties and bake Lego bread in shoebox ovens and count it up as rollicking good fun. When your kid is having fun you have fun, too.

The flip side is when your 3-year-old gets her heart broken, yours breaks twice as hard: once for her and once for the 3-year-old you who has had her heart broken multiple times in the very same way over the past 36 years.

Bug loves her friends. I don't know if all kids latch on to their playmates like she does. My theory is that she's so shy with everyone that once she feels comfortable with someone, especially a kid, she just can't hide her glee at being around them. She wraps them with hugs, guffaws long and loud at their jokes and glows like a sunbeam when they enter a room.

As shy and reserved as Bug is, her friend Ria is outgoing. She chats up people in the park, pets strange dogs on the playground and blows kisses to everyone in the restaurant. Bug LOVES her and together they have the energy of a dozen toddler-sized hurricanes. They play wonderfully together. They share and take turns and make each other laugh. All the stuff that good 3-year-old pals are supposed to do.

Last weekend, we met up with Ria and her family for a festival. The two girls hit it off as usual and had a grand time, marching in a parade together and sharing milkshakes from Starbucks. By the end of lunch, everyone was tired and ready for naps. Ria was pouty and ignoring everyone, including Bug who wanted to share a few more laughs. We chalked it up to the heat and general toddler temperament.

After naps, we went to Ria's house for a party. Bug was so excited to be at Ria's house! For a party! With cake! And Ria! She barreled in and started peppering Ria with questions and news and proposals about games to play. Ria flatly ignored her and went to work on a craft project. Bug figured that's just what they were doing now and got to work, too. She kept up with it long after Ria abandoned her project to join other kids in the playroom. Bug couldn't bring herself to go in there, choosing to stick close to Grinch, Dos and me. While the party crew hooted it up in front of the TV in the other room, we ate alone in a quiet corner of the living room.

Bug pushed aside her fears and walked into the crowd to have cake with her friend. Ria walked away after a few minutes, leaving her cake and Bug behind. Everything Bug did to engage her friend was ignored or refused. By the time we left, Ria was in the middle of a crowd of kids, tearing into a pile of her brother's birthday presents. Bug was in Ria's bedroom with Grinch, quietly giving a gentle checkup to a pink hobby horse. I don't even know if it really registered with Bug that her friend had ditched her. Grinch and I saw the whole thing though, and it hurt as much as if we had been ditched. It hurt worse, I think.

I know Ria wasn't being mean. She was just tired and overwhelmed with all that was going on. The protective mother in me wanted to pull her aside and say, "Be nice to her! She's your friend! She's just a little girl!" But Ria is a little girl, too and the next time we see her, she and Bug likely will be back to their old tricks, giggling and hugging the way they always do.

I want so much to give my girls a full life, to let them see the world and experience all it has to offer. I want to protect them too, to keep them safe from harm and heartache. I know they'll fall and scrape knees, maybe even break a bone one day. That's what comes with adventure. Their hearts will get bruised and broken, too. I just wish it didn't hurt worse than a broken arm.

Translating Bug

My parents have happily been spending my inheritance by visiting every corner of the world since their retirement. I'm cool with it, really, except for the fact that they insist on bringing me t-shirts from all these places. I have Hard Rock cafe t-shirts from Helsinki, Cairo and Costa Rica. Have I ever set foot in these places? Not even close. Do I even LIKE Hard Rock Cafe? Not really, no. But my pleas of "No more t-shirts!" fall on deaf ears each and every time.

In between their world jaunts, they have taken to hosting international visitors. They started doing this when I still lived at home and, because my parents absolutely SUCK at hosting guests, I often spent a lot of time carting people around town, taking them to do touristy things and helping them find the right geegaws to take back home to their family and friends in Whereverslavia.

Sometimes, we were lucky and the guests were fairly good English speakers. One Russian guy spoke no English at all. Somehow, we managed to surmise that he liked basketball and I was able to arrange for him to go to an NBA game and meet a Russian player. The player translated stuff the poor guy had been holding in for days: "My room is hot as hell and the sheets smell. I hate cold tea, please don't make me drink it. I want Coca-cola. I want to buy camera and Nike sneakers, size 12. I have two kids and they want Mickey Mouse dolls." What was never explained was why this guy disappeared for hours on end every night. He SAID he was just taking walks. We suspected he was hustling men in bars. It made for a good story, anyway. "This is Alexi. He doesn't speak English. In Russia, he works construction. In America, he is prostitute."

Even the best English speakers still had little problems here and there. Asking questions and putting the words in the right order were the hardest. It's something that, strangely enough, I hear the Bug do a lot. In her best Russian syntax, she'll ask, "What this is called, please?" or when talking about herself, saying, "You would like cookie, yes."

Despite my best translation skills, her oddly translated statements and questions still confuse me sometimes. For instance, pulling her chair out for her, I hear, "You will not pull out the chair."
Right, Mommy will pull it out for you.
"Noooo. You will not pull out the chair!"
Right, gotcha. Mommy did it.
Tears welling in her eyes, "NOOOOO! You will NOT..."
Oh! Yes, I understand! Mommy, don't pull out the chair. I see now! Don't cry!

You ok?
"Yes. She is YOUR chair. NOT Mommy's."
Whuh...nevermind. Eat your dinner.
(Pointing to couscous that is shifting on her plate) "This is doing what, please?"
What?
"This is doing what?"
What.
"Yes."
Huh?
"This?"
Yes.
"It is doing what?"
I....uh....darlin', you got me. I don't know what you're saying.
"THIS!"
YES!
"IS DOING WHAT?"
MOVING!
"YES!"
YES!

And that's when, I'm quite sure the Bug and I are thinking the same thing: "God! Where are the Russians when you need them?"