“I took care of Callie,” my three-year-old announced.
Callie had been starting with that little whine that babiesadopt to alert mothers and sisters that their new crawlingtricks have them wedged behind the furniture. But the whininghad stopped–rather suddenly it seems in retrospect.
“Thanks, Cassie. You are such a big help,” I said. “Howdid you manage that?”
“I got her a beer.”
Sure enough, Callie was still wedged behind the table, butnow she was happily gumming the cold smooth side of a Newcastle.
Because I wanted to think that Cassie went for the beer in the fridgebecause she imagined how good it would feel on her teethingsister’s sore gums–and not because she deems it some sort ofpanacea–the whole thing got me laughing (after I took awaythe beer, of course.) Then it got me thinking about which ofmy friends would laugh about this story along with me. Andwhich would sort of disapprove.
I guess that groups my mommy friends into two camps: one campthat can overhear me pleading with my kids, “Please don’t lickthe carpet,” and they don’t say a word (or better yet, theylaugh). And the other camp, which thinks that’s pretty gross.
For me, if a toddler gets out of a car, and she has a lollipopstuck to her bottom, I know, instantly, that her mom is a friend.And the opposite is true, too. If you’ve got any number of kidsunder the age of four and your car doesn’t occasionally stink,you probably make me a little nervous.
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