“Children now expect their parents to audition for approval.”
There must be something in the air lately with our children approving what we are saying or doing or thinking. I was happily reading whatimeant2say when she mentioned that her daughter had asked if their conversation would go on her blog, was told yes of course, and was ok with it! I had to read this again to make sure I didn’t imagine what I read, it was very late at night and the workplace had been particularly stressful so anything was possible.
Yep, it WAS true! Wow. The universe must be having some wacky happenings, but I was relieved to learn it wasn’t just me with a happy daughter. It doesn’t happen often so of course that is why I don’t believe it when it happens.
Days earlier, Peanut came in to tattle on Bird, or inform me of how unfair/mean I am, or to ask for her millionth piece of candy….it was several days ago and already forgotten the reason why, and yes our opposite definitions of what is important to remember or not will be addressed in a future post….and began to read over my shoulder as I was writing.
Peanut: What are you doing?
Me: Blogging. Remember I told you I’m starting a blog and it’s mostly about you. I’m talking about why I was trying to take a picture of the top of my head and you thought I was acting weird.
Peanut: mmmmhmmm. (Mostly normal response, can mean anything.)
And then she starts reading. And says nothing. I am freaking out, because she’s not saying anything about how funny I am, or showing any signs that she likes it, and I’m wondering why I even care what my child thinks about what I’m doing.
But then I see a slight smile, but it’s the kind where she knows I’m watching her so of course she doesn’t want me to see it, because then she would have to admit that I really am cool and worthy to be her mother.
Finally after reading in silence and struggling to remain smileless for 3 hours (ok slight exaggeration) she pats me on the head and says, “You’re so weird!” and walks out the door smiling!
So yeah, I’m ignoring being patted on the head like I am the child and taking that as approval that my posts are Peanut approved.
“And don’t tell anyone I’m in the bathroom,” I told my ten year old daughter. This was part of the litany of admonishments about things to not do while she is texting, Facetiming, or (god-forbid) actually answering the ancient phone sitting on our kitchen counter.
“Just tell them I’m busy,” I reminded her. Even though everyone my age knows that’s a euphemism for “she’s in the bathroom,” I was determined to pass on that specific phrase since I had learned it the hard way when I answered the phone as a child and was a bit too honest about the whereabouts of my own mother.
Not that anyone she speaks to even cares what I am doing.
So, the phone rang yesterday. I was (shocker, I know) cooking, so Dimples ran to answer.
“Hello?” Pause. “Hello-o-o?” A bit more insistent this time.
Telemarketer, I thought.
“Speaking,” Dimples said, a bit…
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