We're in it Together...

B was throwing broccoli the other night at the dinner table. Shocking, I know. Jimmy and I told him to stop. So did N.

He stopped throwing broccoli.

He threw a dinner roll instead.

Again, Jimmy and I told him to stop.  So did N.

He stopped.

And he encouraged O to throw his dinner roll.

I told them both to stop. At this point, Jimmy had left the table to go look for his sanity, but N was happy to step into his place. She told B to stop, she told O to stop, and she told both of them they were going to end up in  their room.

This time, I thanked her for her help, but I also felt a need to point out the difference between mothers and sisters, and reminded her that I was, in fact, the mother. I also reminder her that it's generally the mother's job to send brothers to their room.

She looked at me quizzically. "Really?" she asked

I nodded. "Really".

She shrugged. "Huh. I thought we were in this together".



Yesterday, as I was waiting in the pick up line at school, I  started going through the Halloween costume catalog I'd picked up with the mail before I left the house. I knew N would want to see it, and I figured I should first tear out pictures of the costumes that were inappropriate for seven year olds.

I started out with forty pages. Once I got rid of the sexy costumes, the violent costumes, and the gory costumes, there were two pages left.

Two.

I was never really good at math, but I'm pretty sure that means that 95% of the costumes were inappropriate crap, and 5 % were OK.

Kind of.



When we got home, N flipped though the costume catalog. She told me she wanted to be a crayon.

And then she showed me the picture.

I looked at it and wondered how I had missed the picture of the crayon costume with the plunging neckline and hemline that was well above the knee.

"No, you can't be that crayon".

I tried to go back to doing the dishes so I wouldn't have to talk about it, but it didn't work.

"Why can't I be that crayon?"

"Because it's....inappropriate."

I love the word inappropriate. It covers everything.

Besides, I had been texting Aunt Lion earlier in the day about all the trashy Halloween costumes, and she reminded me that it was a teachable moment, and an opportunity to point out that those costumes were really inappropriate.

Which I was now doing, as I was also thinking how over rated these teachable moments are.

"What do you mean? How can a crayon be inappropriate?"

As usual, she is not letting this drop.

"Well, it just is. It's not a crayon for kids".

"It's a crayon. How can it not be for kids?"

I take a deep breath. "Well, because its a crayon for older girls..who dress like sluts  differently".

So she rolled her eyes at me.

ROLLED her eyes.

At me.

So then we had a little chat.

About eye rolling.

About how we just don't do it.

About how maybe they there's too much eye rolling on TV, so maybe we'll need a little TV break.

About how I know there's no eye rolling on Sesame Street, so maybe we should just stick with watching that.

About how maybe there are some friends at school who think its OK to roll their eyes, so maybe we need fewer play dates.

She listened. She laughed. She sighed a little.

But she did NOT roll her eyes again.

And I didn't have to talk about the inappropriate crayon costume anymore.

I told her I would find her a nicer crayon costume. For nice, sweet seven year old girls.

And then she ran off to go boss around her brothers.



But what I really wanted to tell her was this:

You were so right, sweet girl.

We are in this together.

We are so in this together, in fact, that I will make sure that you get to be a child for as long as you possibly can.

Adolescence will come entirely too quickly, and then adulthood, and before you know it, you will have your very own children to boss around and send to their rooms. So let's not rush it.

I will also make sure that you know that it's not OK to roll your eyes at me.

There are many reasons for this, most of which have to do with being respectful and approachable and just not being the kind of girl who thinks it's OK to roll her eyes at her mother when she is seven.

But there's another really important reason you can't roll your eyes at me.

It just pisses me off.

A lot.

In addition, I will make sure that you don't dress like a slutty crayon when you're seven. Or twelve. Or seventeen.

Unless, when you're seventeen, you sneak out of the house and change into a slutty crayon costume when I'm not looking.

At which point I will send you to your room, even though I know that by seventeen you will probably have perfected the art of climbing out of your bedroom window so silently that you will think I won't possibly be able to hear you.

But I will.

Because I'm the mom, and that's my job, too.

Yes, we are in this together.

All of it.