Writing Wrongs

June 06, 2005

On Saturday, I took Andrew to see The Hobbit at the Minneapolis Children’s Theater. (Aha! There is culture beyond Fear Factor and American Idol in the Tahmaseb household.) Bob, on the other hand, prepared to go shopping with Kyra.

Uh oh.

You gotta understand. Dad + kid(s) + Target = purchases of a questionable nature.

So when we arrive home, what do we see? A certain kidlet cleaned up thanks to a clearance aisle full of princess stuff. So now she has a pink satin pillow with fringe, a matching purse with a sparkly feather strap, headbands, hair clips, princess pink lip gloss, and the pièce de résistance: princess pink fingernail polish.

Now an almost three-year-old doesn’t really need fingernail polish, does she? Still, I’d given almost anything for a picture of Bob painting his daughter’s fingernails and toenails. We try to let her be who she wants to be, even this young, and if that involves princess pink everything, then so be it.

Andrew wasn’t all that pleased. According to him, the road to becoming a snotty third grade girl is paved with princess pink. Those girls in his class think they’re “all that” (even though they are so clearly not, at least not in his eyes). He predicts dark things if we don’t stop this immediately.

A bit later, Kyra steamrollered over her brother. This happens at least once a day, but Andrew (also know as “The Negotiator”) used it to his advantage.

He glowered at me and said: “See, Mommy! It’s starting already. She thinks she’s all that.”

And a bag of chips.

Charity Tahmaseb wrote at 1:37 p.m.

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