In honor of Mother’s Day, here are two little anecdotes from motherhood this week. It is common to hear parents--and especially stay-at-home parents--talk about the need for some “grown up conversation” or time with peers. That is a very real need, and I have certainly felt it myself, but at the same time, it is amusing to observe how often children’s conversations and interactions among themselves mirror adult behavior. It poses an interesting question: do little children always mimic adults, or are adults more childish than they care to admit?
Domestic
When Lily went into ballet class this week, two little girls from the 2-3 year-old class came and sat on the bench opposite me. Immediately behind them, the wall was covered in papers showing all of the different classes’ recital costumes. One girl pointed to a flowing ballet costume a little way above her and said, “I like the princess!” Her companion pointed to a superhero outfit from the boys’ tumbling class. “I like Spiderman!” “I like the princess!” the other returned. “I like Spiderman!” “I like the princess!” “I like Spiderman!”...
This exchange went on for a while--long enough for several of the moms to notice and chuckle at it. The conversation was obviously hopeless. Each little girl was going to keep in reiterating her opinion without changing it, and they would go on indefinitely until one of them got distracted or tired of it. I couldn’t help but think that it was a decent depiction of how our domestic political interaction goes sometimes. Just substitute terms like “gun control” and “the second amendment,” “gay marriage” and “family values,” or “tax increases” and “spending cuts,” for “the princess” and “Spiderman,” and there you have it. Two sides stuck in a repeat cycle, each far more interested in reiterating its own stance than engaging with the other. Neither girl stopped to ask her friend why she liked the costume that she did--or even if her liking that costume meant that she absolutely didn’t like the other. It was all about “what I think,” not “what you think.”
Upon reflection though, I think I do the little girls an injustice to compare them to politically charged conversations. The girls were clearly enjoying themselves, pointing at their pictures and giggling at their ridiculous conflict. Had it been truly like adult politics, they would have started appealing to all the other kids and moms present to support their chosen side and would have started saying nasty things about each other and disparaging the opposing viewpoint as inept, immoral, and dangerous. “My friend here thinks that Spiderman is the best costume. Spiderman! I tell you now that if we allow Spiderman to have a place in a dance recital, our core values will disintegrate! Soon, there will be no more glitter, no more tutus, no more pink! Everyone will have to wear a mask and pants! Anyone who likes Spiderman is an enemy of girliness!”
Hmm...maybe kid conversation isn’t so bad.
Foreign
Teddy Roosevelt is famous for saying, “Speak softly and carry a big stick” to describe his foreign policy. I think Corin is a fan.
Yesterday morning, Lily pitched a giant fit right when she woke up. Matt and I were in our room, and he had just said that he’d watch the kids so that I could snooze a bit. We heard her stir, so Matt went in, but as soon as he entered the room, she started screaming: “No! I want Mommy!” Matt tried to comfort her, but she kept on screaming. There was clearly nothing wrong with her like injury or a nightmare, and I wasn’t about to let her be so blatantly rude and controlling, so I told her, from my room, that I would be happy to see her if she wanted to come to my room, but I was trying to get some rest, and I was not coming to her just then. She kept on making a fuss and fake-crying. I told Matt to come back to our room and let her carry on since watching her would either aggravate or encourage the theatrics. I continued to talk to her from my room, telling her as calmly but firmly as I could that I did not appreciate her behavior, but I would be happy to let her come snuggle with me if she would calm down and come in. No luck.
After a little while, Corin, who had been playing around in our room, got an impish grin on his face and ambled out to the landing into which all three of our bedroom doors open. I joked aloud, “Are you going to be our ambassador, Corin?” He just kept smiling. “Go on then, little ambassador. Tell Sissy to come to our room.” Just about that time, Lily dramatically crawled a few feet out of her room and sprawled on the floor. I continued: “There’s nothing wrong with your legs, Lily. Just come here and tell me what is the matter.” She kept on whining inarticulately, rolling over onto her back and trying to look as pathetic as possible. Unnoticed by any of us, Corin walked over and found a small, colorful plastic ball that fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. He then toddled over to Lily, bent down, and whacked her smartly in the face with it. Her crying quickly turned from attention-seeking into actual dismay, and she got right up and ran...wait for it...straight to me in my room.
Matt and I could barely contain our laughter. It was bad parenting, I suppose, but it was too hilarious to suppress altogether. I had to be serious enough to tell Corin not to hit, and to let Lily hear me tell him so, but I didn’t coddle Lily beyond that. If you’re going to be ridiculous, you just might get laughed at. I wouldn’t recommend Corin for a future in diplomacy at this point, though. He was very effective, but his method was rather coarse. “Don’t speak at all, and carry a hard plastic ball.”
Domestic
When Lily went into ballet class this week, two little girls from the 2-3 year-old class came and sat on the bench opposite me. Immediately behind them, the wall was covered in papers showing all of the different classes’ recital costumes. One girl pointed to a flowing ballet costume a little way above her and said, “I like the princess!” Her companion pointed to a superhero outfit from the boys’ tumbling class. “I like Spiderman!” “I like the princess!” the other returned. “I like Spiderman!” “I like the princess!” “I like Spiderman!”...
This exchange went on for a while--long enough for several of the moms to notice and chuckle at it. The conversation was obviously hopeless. Each little girl was going to keep in reiterating her opinion without changing it, and they would go on indefinitely until one of them got distracted or tired of it. I couldn’t help but think that it was a decent depiction of how our domestic political interaction goes sometimes. Just substitute terms like “gun control” and “the second amendment,” “gay marriage” and “family values,” or “tax increases” and “spending cuts,” for “the princess” and “Spiderman,” and there you have it. Two sides stuck in a repeat cycle, each far more interested in reiterating its own stance than engaging with the other. Neither girl stopped to ask her friend why she liked the costume that she did--or even if her liking that costume meant that she absolutely didn’t like the other. It was all about “what I think,” not “what you think.”
Upon reflection though, I think I do the little girls an injustice to compare them to politically charged conversations. The girls were clearly enjoying themselves, pointing at their pictures and giggling at their ridiculous conflict. Had it been truly like adult politics, they would have started appealing to all the other kids and moms present to support their chosen side and would have started saying nasty things about each other and disparaging the opposing viewpoint as inept, immoral, and dangerous. “My friend here thinks that Spiderman is the best costume. Spiderman! I tell you now that if we allow Spiderman to have a place in a dance recital, our core values will disintegrate! Soon, there will be no more glitter, no more tutus, no more pink! Everyone will have to wear a mask and pants! Anyone who likes Spiderman is an enemy of girliness!”
Hmm...maybe kid conversation isn’t so bad.
Foreign
Teddy Roosevelt is famous for saying, “Speak softly and carry a big stick” to describe his foreign policy. I think Corin is a fan.
Yesterday morning, Lily pitched a giant fit right when she woke up. Matt and I were in our room, and he had just said that he’d watch the kids so that I could snooze a bit. We heard her stir, so Matt went in, but as soon as he entered the room, she started screaming: “No! I want Mommy!” Matt tried to comfort her, but she kept on screaming. There was clearly nothing wrong with her like injury or a nightmare, and I wasn’t about to let her be so blatantly rude and controlling, so I told her, from my room, that I would be happy to see her if she wanted to come to my room, but I was trying to get some rest, and I was not coming to her just then. She kept on making a fuss and fake-crying. I told Matt to come back to our room and let her carry on since watching her would either aggravate or encourage the theatrics. I continued to talk to her from my room, telling her as calmly but firmly as I could that I did not appreciate her behavior, but I would be happy to let her come snuggle with me if she would calm down and come in. No luck.
After a little while, Corin, who had been playing around in our room, got an impish grin on his face and ambled out to the landing into which all three of our bedroom doors open. I joked aloud, “Are you going to be our ambassador, Corin?” He just kept smiling. “Go on then, little ambassador. Tell Sissy to come to our room.” Just about that time, Lily dramatically crawled a few feet out of her room and sprawled on the floor. I continued: “There’s nothing wrong with your legs, Lily. Just come here and tell me what is the matter.” She kept on whining inarticulately, rolling over onto her back and trying to look as pathetic as possible. Unnoticed by any of us, Corin walked over and found a small, colorful plastic ball that fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. He then toddled over to Lily, bent down, and whacked her smartly in the face with it. Her crying quickly turned from attention-seeking into actual dismay, and she got right up and ran...wait for it...straight to me in my room.
Matt and I could barely contain our laughter. It was bad parenting, I suppose, but it was too hilarious to suppress altogether. I had to be serious enough to tell Corin not to hit, and to let Lily hear me tell him so, but I didn’t coddle Lily beyond that. If you’re going to be ridiculous, you just might get laughed at. I wouldn’t recommend Corin for a future in diplomacy at this point, though. He was very effective, but his method was rather coarse. “Don’t speak at all, and carry a hard plastic ball.”
Comments
Post a Comment