Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Will No One Think of the Children?

From one of our neighborhood newspapers in an article about some re-build money going to a local park:

"Many neighbors expressed concern that Latino kids didn't have adequate soccer fields."

What about the white kids who want to play baseball and cross country ski? What about the black kids who want to play basketball and double dutch? What about the Asian kids who want to play the violin? What about the Native American kids who want to be stoically wise, in touch with nature, and count coups?

C'mon all children want to live out their stereotypes. Why can't we just offer them the space to do so in the park?

Sunday, January 29, 2012

The Juciest Lucy (and I'm not trying to be gross)

We just had the quintessential Minnesota family day -- replete with a trip to a nearby park/ lake for the Art Sled Rally, playing at the playground in the snow in sub-freezing temps, and an evening at Matt's Bar and Grill for the best (and original) Jucy Lucy in town (anyone who even brings up the other place further down Cedar not only automatically loses the argument, but also gets punched in the face).

Little A turned two recently, so this was her first cheese-filled burger. What?! you say: you guys haven't gone to Matt's for two years. Oh, no, my friends, of course we have. But A had been filling up on fries and grilled cheese over our most recent visits. We finally realized that she was ready. Why the long wait? Did we think that a Jucy Lucy was over-processed, greasy, fat-laden fare not fit for a baby? Hardly. We just knew that she wasn't developmentally ready to: FEAR the cheese. Now that she's reached that milestone, it's Jucy Lucy's all around.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

I'm not ready to be a grandmother.

An actual conversation with my actual two year old:

A: Ow! Mama, baby bite me!
Me: What?

A walks into the kitchen with her tiny finger in her tiny baby doll's mouth. A is holding Baby, wrapped in a blue blanket and in an appropriate, head/ neck safe position, in the crook of her arm.

A: Baby bite.
Me: You have to tell her "no biting, Baby." Tell her biting hurts.
A: Mama do it!
Me: You do it. You're the mama.
A: Mama the granny.
Me: I didn't get you into this mess. That was Dada Bunny.

[It was revealed today that A's toy bunny is Baby's dad.]

A: Mama do it.

A exit stage left.


Dear Lord, I hope this isn't a sign of things to come.