Outsmarted!

Q: What do you do when your toddler outwits your husband?
A: Laugh maniacally, then post about it on your blog so everyone can share in the fun. tee hee.
So, Chad and Keira love to wind each other up. That's nothing new. A week or so ago, Keira was singing the ABC song and at the end, sings "now I know my ABCs" when Chad jumps in with "No, they're my ABCs."

For several days, the two of them go back and forth with a mostly constant stream of "my ABCs," "no, my ABCs" and so on. Thanksgiving day, Chad starts in again. Keira marches into the kitchen, pulls two of her magnetic alphabet toys off of the fridge. She brings them into the dining room and in front of everyone says, "see, Daddy. They're my ABCs."   Point 1, Keira. 

Tonight, Chad thinks he's gotten one over on Keira. She'd taken two of the magnetic letters off the fridge and had left them in the living room. By way of asking Keira to put them back Chad says, "Hey, Keira, can you put my ABCs back on the fridge?" Keira takes them, pauses for a minute, then hands them back to Chad. As she does so, she replies "dey your ABCs, you put it back." Point two, Keira. If Daddy knows what's good for him, he'll stop while he's ahead.

Omnipotence and the Karma of Ewe

Ah, omnipotence. I am now all-knowing, at least, in the opinion of a certain two year old. And, woe be it to me if I don't have the answer. No, really, I am actually required to know the answer to any question that might happen to be raised, even if there's no bleeding way I have the foggiest clue.
Take our rides home for example. "Mommy, what's that mommy's name?" "Where's that guy going?" "What's in that truck?" And, if I admit ignorance she responds, "No, mommy, you tell me!" So, I make shit up. It's full of basketballs, the mommy's name is Ginger, and that guy is going to the podiatrist. Then I have to explain podiatrist.
Keira has also been honing her theories on cosmic justice. Keira and I were reading a book and we came to a page that describes sheep being sheared. Keira wanted to talk about what happens to the wool that they cut off of the sheep. After establishing that the wool was indeed something I knit with, Keira pounced on a prime teaching opportunity. With much clarifying of point and reviewing for comprehension, she was finally able to impart her lesson. While it was okay for me to knit with the sheep's yarn, when I was done playing with it, I had to knit something for the sheep to wear. See, the sheep was only sharing with me and I have to be a good sharer. Oh, and the sheep would be cold. {what is it with her and things getting cold?}

Voting As a Means of Maintaining a Democratic Society

Or, as Keira so eloquently put it on the way to the polling place on Tuesday:
"I don't want to go vote, mommy. I'd rather go skiing."

It's All Perspective

with a different perspective, a size 5 diaper does fit a 4" penguin (and 4" penguins need diapers)

A comment during yesterday afternoon's commute home made me think about perspective. It's easy become lulled into the assumption that everyone sees things the same way you do, even in the face of mountains of evidence to the contrary.
Take art. We have a gallery within walking distance of our home, and we're not infrequent visitors. I love art, but I'm not good at art appreciation. I know what I like, and what I like is literal. A tree must look like a tree. A pretty swirl of colors can be a pretty swirl of colors, and I may even buy it and take it home, but don't tell me that it's a tree.
It's the same story with appreciating the skill involved. I'll be the first to admit that I'm incapable of producing at least 90% of the art I view. However, just because you can paint a duck with a blender coming out of its head, doesn't make the painting a worthwhile endeavor. I mean really, who wants that?
But it's really all just perspective, right? I mean, someone out there - and probably lots of someones - really wants to see the duck with the blender. Any day, that painting will be sold, taken home, hung on a wall, and the lucky purchaser will think what a funny statement that makes. Surely, at least half of the people who've tried to read this blog have thought "dear god, who writes this shit." And, that's okay.
And, you ask, what's the comment that spurred this philosophical musing? Well, on the way home, larger than life and planted right next to the car on an on ramp is a billboard with a more-than-almost naked woman on it. In fact, if you squint your eyes, you can see oh-hint-oh-nipple (which, by the way, I can now recommend not doing while you drive.) Each time I see it, I cringe a bit because it's for cosmetic surgery, and this body image is being crammed down my daughter's throat every day. Lest you should begin to commiserate, I'll let Keira herself dispense with this line of thought. As we approach the billboard:
K: Mommy, is that a mommy? (mommy = any adult female)
M: Yes, that's a woman.
K: Mommy, it makes me sad.
M: Why?
K: That mommy is so sad.
M: Why is that woman sad?
K: Her shirt fall on the floor. She's going to be cold.
Gotcha. It's not objectifying a female or promoting the slicing and dicing of women for aesthetics. She's cold. She doesn't have a shirt, so she must be cold. I can live with that.

Surrounded By Salad Eatin' Bears

I hate to begin this post with bad news, but it's official, our home has an infestation of bears. According to Keira, these bears lurk around outside, and apparently they sometimes inhabit our ground floor. I'm not really sure what they are doing, but I have been informed that while these bears are black and eat salad, that they can also bite.
Since we live in an area with no bears, these particular denizens of our neighborhood are purely the product of Keira's imagination - which is officially here in full force. I'm positive that the bears from vacation somehow "followed" us home, and I also know where the biting and salad eating came from. Keira has told our neighbors, her friends, and her teachers, that sometimes bears are outside our house and she has to be quiet. The ursids don't seem to be causing any actual anxiety, and we don't play up the imaginary bears, so it seems pretty harmless.
On the other hand, the increased imaginary play is nothing short of hysterical. We went to our neighborhood playground this past week. There's a mini jungle gym that looks like an old fashioned car. Keira decided that she wanted to play "shopping mommy" and strapped me into my carseat. We then proceeded to go to the banana* store, the strawberry store, and the zoozeum (Children's Museum). I had to pretend to ride around in the cart, and be chastized for picking up things from the supermarket shelves. Apparently, I'm a right pain in the ass, but she keeps insisting on going to the supermarket with me, so she must like it.
*Note: banana is pronounced with the emphasis on the first a (BA nana)