It’s been a while since I wrote a bit on a real life conversation I had with someone; the type that sticks with me for a while because it’s funny, weird, insulting, demoralizing, horrifying, whatever.
But I have one today. It’s a conversation my two-year-old daughter, Corinne, engaged me in. It fits into several, maybe all, of the categories listed above. Mainly because her ability to converse is a recently acquired skill.
Oh, yeah, and about the post title, Bruiser is one of her nicknames. The reasons for this are specific, fifty percent of which are explained here.
On with the conversation…
Bruiser: (brushing her fingers along my face) “You have whispers?” (That’s “whiskers” if you don’t speak toddler.)
Bruiser: “You have mustache?” (she can say “mustache” but not “whiskers”?)
Bruiser: “You have mustache in you nose.”
Me: (my inside voice) “Yikes! Have I really been that neglectful?!”
This outta do the trick.
We all scream for real choice, rather than the mere illusion of it.
It’s your choice
Last night I came home and found my family sitting around the kitchen table. An ordinary sight on any week night where dinner cooking and homework assignment completion meld to create an atmosphere of love, affection and gratitude
crying, yelling and general malaise, with one difference; The Nematode had an “I Voted” sticker affixed to her shirt.
“So, who did you vote for?” I asked.
The 10-year-old butted in, “I voted for Barack Obama, because blah, blah, blah…”
The actual reasons escape me. The mention of tyrannical ego-maniacs has this effect.
The Nematode then declared, “I voted for chocolate ice cream!”
To which I replied heartily, “Amen!”
It was a great moment, the creation of which The Nematode is no stranger, and then the night went on. But as I often (OK, always) do, I thought about it the rest of the evening, and again when I woke up this morning. Read More