Flabbergasted

I was talking to Anna (and Liam too, since he was in the car, though I don't know how much of the conversation he grasped) about adopting animals instead of buying them. We've had this discussion before, but I like to revisit concepts now and again, especially when new contexts for the conversation arise.

So anyway, Anna was saying that we would never buy a cat because her mom's allergic to them. I replied that we would never buy a cat, period. We would adopt.

I explained that we would adopt because there are animals who need adoption. I explained that there are places where people take lost or unwanted dogs and cats, and those places are only so big and that they feel that they have to kill them to make room for more (all while breeding continues unabated). I was sure to say that it doesn't have to be this way, and that there are places where people don't kill the animals they are sheltering. In fact, tomorrow we're going to drop off some clothes and stuff the Animal Ark Thrift Store where they use all proceeds to fund Animal Ark, a no-kill shelter.

Then Anna said, "But people who aren't vegan would buy a dog instead of adopting."

I said not necessarily. I said a lot of people who aren't vegan still really care about cats and dogs and they don't want them to be hurt and killed.

"What?" she said, incredulous.

"Yeah," I said, "a lot of people love cats and dogs, but eat cows and pigs."

She was utterly flabbergasted.

I know the feeling.

My Daughter the Monkey-Eater

"I want a rubber band, Daddy," says my almost four year old daughter.

"Why?"

"For my monkeys."

"Why do you need a rubber band for your monkeys?"

"Because I'm going to kill them."

Calm down. Deep breath. Aaaaaand, overreaction!

"We don't pretend to kill animals," I say, knowing full well that we do, indeed, pretend to kill animals. I pretended to kill animals (mostly humans) all the time when I was a kid. It's what kids do.

Did you have a cap gun growing up? Did you pretend to have shoot-outs with your siblings and/or friends? It's make-believe. It's dragon slaying. It's, "I'm Luke Skywaker and you're Darth Vader." It's (not necessarily, but often) a developmentally appropriate part of childhood.

Kids explore taboos, danger and the idea of good vs. evil through make-believe. It's an important way they process the unfamiliar things that they see and hear.

A couple weeks ago, Anna went on a boat ride. Before the boat ride, two of her uncles were fishing. She asked on the way home what they were doing on the boat when we weren't there, so we told her. I get the feeling that her knowledge that these two uncles she loves were out trying to kill fish before they took her on the best boat ride of her life has something to do with her recent pretending to not be vegan. It's a safe, harmless way for her to process the idea of killing animals to eat them.

As an aside, I realize that many vegans probably think that killing animals isn't an idea that kids should have to process. We oppose it, so why should we allow kids to pretend to do it? Well, I think we should for the same reason that we should let them play cops and robbers; for the same reason there's no harm in them picking up a stick and battling a tree that they're pretending is a mean person or a monster. Kids need to learn the difference between make-believe and reality, and they need to process all that they see. They're either going to internalize everything or they're going to express it. I think expressing it (in a way that doesn't hurt anyone) is the healthy way to go.

All of this was running through my head after I said we don't pretend to kill animals. And I decided that she can, indeed, pretend to kill animals. You'd think I would have been prepared for this, since Jen went through this same scenario with Anna about a week ago and we talked about it and said that it was OK. But when your daughter says to your face, in that cute little voice of hers, that she wants to kill monkeys, well, I think I'm allowed an overreaction here and there.

A few minutes later we sit down to the dinner table and Anna pulls out the pretend food. I get an orange with ketchup, Jen gets a lemon with ketchup, and Anna gets a barrel of monkeys (no ketchup). She startes tying them up, one after the other, with a rubber band and then never really pretends to eat them, but says she's eating them.

"So, what's the deal with the rubber band? What are you doing to them?

"I'm tying it up," she says.

"It?" I say, "Don't you mean her? Or maybe him?"

"Her. She's a big sister! She has a little brother."

"How do you think her little brother will feel about you eating his big sister?"

"I'm going to eat him too! I'm going to eat all of them!"

Jen and I just laugh. I try to say something about the monkeys' cousins in the next town, but it's a lost cause.

"We don't actually eat monkeys though, right?" I have to check. Just to make sure.

"I know. I'm just pretending," she says with that little shoulder shrug and slight pursing of the lips that says, "Chill out Dad. This isn't a big deal."

The other day she "prepared" a veggie burger for her, Liam and me. Mine and Liam's were both vegan with vegan sour cream, but hers had non-vegan sour cream on it.

There's a book that I own, but haven't read yet, called Killing Monsters: Why Children Need Fantasy, Super Heroes, And Make-Believe Violence. It will be next on my reading list.

I think we're just going to roll with all this stuff for now (as if we have a choice). It's either that, or kill make-believe. And we don't want to kill make-believe.

When Are We Going To Die?

Just now, a conversation with Anna. Out of the blue she asks...

Anna: When are we going to die?

Me: We can't know when, but it will probably be a long time from now.

Anna: Do you know what day it's going to be on?

Me: It's going to be a long time from now, probably.

Anna: Yeah, we'll be old or we'll get hurt in the water and we'll sink and die like that mommy did in Ice Age.

On a related note, I just signed Anna up for her second round of swimming lessons.

Her Mother's Daughter (and other Slices)

We went to IKEA yesterday and Anna went to this little play land they have there. It's kids-only. We drop her off and she has up to an hour there and then we come and get her. It's pretty cool.

Anyway, there's this loft that they can climb up to and watch a big screen TV. After she played for a while, she took a break and went up to watch TV (I know all of this because she told me). Here's the conversation we had about it:

Anna: I went to watch TV and there was a girl and she said, "This show is not for you."

Me: So, did you say anything back to her?

Anna: Yes, I said, "This show is for me!"

Me: That's great! And did she say anything back to you?

Anna: Yes, she said, "No! This show is not for you."

Me: Oh. Well did you say anything back to her?

Anna: I said, "Yes! This show is for me."

Me: Did it keep going like that? Or did one of you stop talking?

Anna: I stopped talking.

Me: And you watched the TV?

Anna: Yes.

Me: Because it was for you.

Anna: Yes.

Then I told her to give me a high five and commended her for sticking up for herself. She's assertive like her mom.

This is the kind of confidence I don't remember having as a kid. If I was in that situation I would have said, "Oh. OK. I guess it's not for me," and walked away.

I was never able to separate the concept of confidence from cockiness. I always felt that people who were sure of themselves were also full of themselves. I know now that I was wrong.

And I don't doubt that people will be wrong about Anna too, if she keeps up with this confidence stuff. She'll be called bossy or pushy or stubborn, instead of assertive and ambitious and strong willed.

But screw those people. She's awesome and I'm going to keep giving her high fives.

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Before nap and night time, we talk about happy thoughts; things that Anna can think about as she's going to bed. Usually, it's something that she did that day, like going sledding or eating something she really liked. Stuff like that. We usually supply the happy thoughts, but lately she's been wanting to determine what they are, which actually makes a lot more sense.

Yesterday, one of her happy thoughts was flossing (which is something she just started to do).

Tonight, one of her happy thoughts was, "getting bigger and stronger."

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For supper tonight: Toasted Sesame Kale and Veganomicon's Blueberry Corn Pancakes, which are my new favorite pancake. So easy and so fucking good.

I don't swear a lot on this blog. Maybe you've noticed. But I just did there. That's how good the pancakes are. I'm not going to say it again. Once is enough. But really, they're that good. For an approximation of what they look like, check out the photos here (mine were bigger than these, because I like big pancakes).

Anyway, Anna and Liam both loved the kale and the pancakes (which, oddly enough, went together really good). It was Liam's first time eating kale and he didn't even flinch. He just starting eating it like it was something he'd always eaten. And then he asked for more. He's a good little eater.

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Do I brag about my kids too much?

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I was trying to explain the concept of glasses to Anna; how some people can't see that good and so they have to wear glasses. I could tell it was hard for her to understand so I took a couple photos to illustrate.

This first one is how it looks with my glasses on.


And this is what it looks like with my glasses off (and no, this isn't an exaggeration):



So now she probably still doesn't get it, but it might make a little more sense.

More Slices

Driving in the car a couple weeks ago:

Anna: I'm thinking of a story.

Mom: What's the story?

Anna: There was a boy and his name was Chocolate Kicker and he kicked a fence and hurt his foot. And his mommy came over and put a band-aid on it.

Mom: Did it make his foot feel better?

Anna: Yes. And he had a baby and his name was Happy Cap.

I think this is her first invented narrative. Of course, she's always pretending with her dolls. One of them wakes up and she has to put her to bed, or something like that. But I think this is the first time that she made something up out of the blue, without a prop to assist her.

As a writer, it makes me gush with pride.

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A few nights ago, Anna called out for us about a half-an-hour after going to bed because she had to pee. In the bathroom, she looked at me and said, "I'm a bigger girl now. Does this mean I can touch sharp things?"

Yep, she's been waiting patiently to get bigger so she can play with knives. Should I be concerned?

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Earlier that same night she said, "Watch this," and walked over to a lion sticker on her wall and pointed to the freckles on its cheeks one after another. "Did you see that?" she yelled.

"What were you doing?" I asked.

"Counting in my head!"

I remember when I learned to read in my head. It was a big day for me and the realization that I could do it made me feel like a god. From her exclamation, I'd like to think she felt similar. We high-fived and then I hugged her for a few minutes.

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Anna took this photo:


I need a haircut.

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I explained the brain to Anna a couple days ago. I waved my hand and said, "My brain is telling my hand to wave. My brain is telling me to smile." Etcetera, etcetera.

So now every once in a while she'll say something like, "It's telling me to walk slow," and I get all creeped out until I realize that she's talking about her brain.

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We order delivery from Pizza Luce once a month or so. After the delivery guy dropped off the pizza last week Anna asked, "Is there a Luce at Pizza Luce. I think the guy who brought pizza to our house is named Pizza Luce. His name is Pizza."

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Liam is crawling now, sort of. He moves forward, sort of crawling with one leg and pushing off with his other foot. He's also pulling up to stand and cruising all over the place. Pulling leaves off our plants, trying to eat books. He can wave goodbye, sign for more, clap his hands and smother you with open-mouthed kisses.

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Anna has started skinning her grapes. She's really good at it.

Slices

I have a running mental list of things to blog about, but they rarely make it to the blog. So I’m going to start doing posts like this one, where I just put a bunch of small (or not-so-small) slices of our life into one post.

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We were driving in the car with the whole family plus Anna’s aunt Jessica. Jessica had some bottled iced tea with and asked if Jen (Mrs. Piggy) wanted it. Jen looked at the ingredients and said that it had honey and no thanks. So Jessica said she’d have it. Here’s what came next:

Anna: Is that vegan?
Jessica: No.
Anna: But you’re drinking it?
Jessica: Yes.
Anna: Oh. You not be vegan?
Jessica: No.
Anna: Oh. That’s wrong.

I swear, I never told her to say that. These are the kind of interactions that will ostracize her once she starts school, so I actually told her that instead she could say something like, “oh, I’m vegan,” or something less judgmental and confrontational.

We are pretty non-confrontational parents. I mean, we’ll talk to someone about veganism if they bring it up, and we bring it up if the situation is apt. But we don’t make it a point to tell people they’re wrong for not being vegan.

So … that’s our girl. I have a feeling she’s going to be calling us out on stuff that we never even thought of when she gets older.

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Anna was looking at the “Grandma Rocks” pillow we got when her great grandma passed away and she was looking at the rocking chair, noticing how it matches the real rocking chair that we also got from her great grandma when she died. She started to make up a story about the picture of the chair on the pillow.

“I think they got the rocking chair because it was from a boy who died and they took it.”

“Who got the rocking chair?” I asked.

“The people on the pillow. They got the chair because the boy died.”

I got a little weirded out that she said “boy” instead of “old man” or something. And I didn’t see the connection she was making between the picture of the rocking chair and the real rocking chair we got from her great grandma. So I said:

“I think it’s just a picture of a rocking chair. I don’t think there’s a story behind it.”

She flips the pillow over and looks at the other side. “No, there’s no story behind it.”

And then I laughed and she ran to her bedroom. I made a point to apologize for not understanding the connection she was making and commending her for her imagination. The girl is too smart for me sometimes.

I remember saying things that made complete sense in my head when I was a kid and not being able to explain it clearly enough to an adult to make them understand. I hated that feeling (hell, I still do). So … I make every effort possible to understand my daughter.

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Our friend Erin (Tony’s wife) was coming over to drop off our half of the CSA share and Anna said, “I really like Erin and Tony. They’re nice guys.”

Then she paused for a second and corrected herself: “Tony’s a nice guy. Erin’s a nice person.”

She’s been accurately using pronouns for almost as long as she’s been talking, but she’s just now realizing what they mean and how they work. It’s fun to watch.

A few days ago, Anna was snuggling with her blankey bear after a nap and I asked her if blankey bear is a boy or a girl or just a blankey bear.

“He’s a boy,” she said.

“She’s a boy?” I repeated, because it sort of sounded like she said that.

“No! He’s a boy!”

“Oh,” I said, “that would have been funny if you had said, ‘she’s a boy.’”

And then Anna laughed uncontrollably for a few minutes, repeating, “she’s a boy,” over and over. She got it and she thought it was hilarious.

About ten minutes later she walked back up to her bed and looked at blankey bear and said, through giggling anticipation, trying to hold it all together, “I’m going to say it again.” And then she did. Sort of. As much as she could have while convulsing with laughter.

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I forgot to blog this a while back. I recorded this exchange immediately after it happened because I found it hilarious (I love the “memo” function on my cell phone).

A fly was buzzing around Anna’s bedroom.

Anna: Can you catch it daddy? And put it outside?

Me: I don’t think you can catch a fly, Anna. You either have to kill it or-

Anna (cutting me off mid-sentence): Kill it.

It was funny, but also a bit disturbing. I don’t have a problem killing house flies (or spiders, or fruit flies, centipedes, millipedes, crickets… you get the point) as long as they’re uninvited guests in my home. Usually with spiders though, we’ll catch it and let it go outside. At least when Anna’s watching. So, anyway, the fact that she was so all about killing the fly caught me off guard. It was hard not to laugh.

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Anna in the back seat of the car one day: “We better hold on! Daddy’s driving!”

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Last night on the way home from Royal Orchid (possibly the best Thai restaurant I’ve ever eaten at), Liam would look at Anna in the back seat and make a noise. Anna would repeat the noise and then they would both forcefully giggle for thirty seconds. Repeat for about ten minutes and that was most of our ride home. It was awesome.

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Yesterday I gave Anna a science lesson. I used one of her stuffed dogs to illustrate that things fall. I held him up and asked her what was going to happen when I dropped the dog. She said, "I don't know." So I dropped it and it fell and I said, "It fell to the floor." Same thing again. And then the third time when I asked her what was going to happen she said, "It's going to fall to the floor!"

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes."

"How can you be sure?"

"I don't know," she said in her way that tells me she actually does know, but doesn't know how, or doesn't feel like, expressing it.

So I told her that she's knows because that's what happened all the other times. Then I told her that things fall because of gravity. Five minutes later we were both lying on the floor pretending we couldn't get up because we were on Jupiter. Then we got up because we were on Earth. And then I lifted her up and had her jump high and far because we were on the moon, all the while explaining that there is more or less gravity depending on the size of things.

She might have absorbed ten percent of what I was telling her. And that's enough for me. It's worth it. It's fun.