Looking back over my recent posts, I realize that 3 year old Hallie and her shenanigans are a recurring, perhaps even repetitive, topic.
I realize this, but I am helpless to stop it, because, I'm sorry people, she's just flat out funny!
Here's the latest proof:
Today as I was sitting at the computer, doing something desperately important like cruising around Facebook, Hallie wandered in. She drifted over to the window, and started aimlessly playing with the blinds, banging them around, trying to reach the pull-cord--basic low-grade naughtiness, generally employed to gain attention.
"What are you doing, Hallie?" I asked, a warning clear in my voice, giving her the chance to cease the borderline behavior. I asked this of my three-year old, you understand...little bitty girl, barely out of toddlerhood, cute as a button, limited three-year-old understanding.
The answer I got back, however, could have come from a thirty-year old, worldly, wryly ironic--it's all in the tone--aided and abetted by the sly, over-the-shoulder glance that said, I know you know the answer to that question, so I'm not even going to dignify it with the truth.
"What are you doing, Hallie?"
"Bobbing for apples, of course."
Of course, once she saw my reaction (i.e., gales of laughter), the thirty year old left the building, and the three-year old was back. She wanted to recreate the scene over and over, and I think now believes that the phrase "bobbing for apples" is the Great Punchline of the Century, no set-up required, slays 'em in the aisles every time. So her comedic sense comes and goes...but just wait till she's four!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
"Don't make me do this..."
Yesterday afternoon, Colin engaged in his favorite activity of terrorizing his sister. This has many forms, but on this occasion was manifested by threatening her with his replica of a Napoleon-era pistol, straight from Paris, France, folks. It's not supposed to be a toy, but any time he picks it up to "just look" at it, the urge to brandish it at someone overwhelms him. So that's what he was doing, before Mommy and Daddy intervened and repeated our mandate of not pointing guns at people, not pretending to wound, maim, dismember, eviscerate, or otherwise do violence to living creatures, even if it happens to be your little sister. So there's the back story.
Several minutes later, Hallie wanted something to drink. I was deep in the throes of painting something, so I referred her to Daddy. Daddy was deep in the throes of computing something, so he asked her to wait a minute. Apparently she had a thirst the likes of which has never been seen, so she waxed impatient within seconds, and the polite, singsong-y "May I please have something to drink" turned abruptly to a screechy "Give me something to drink right now!!"
Suddenly she had our undivided attention.
"Hallie, that is not the way you talk to people," said Eli. "It is not okay to yell at Daddy like that."
"But I wanted something to drink!"
"And I said I would get you something, in just one minute. You need to be patient."
Silence. Then, in a tone implying that this was the only possible outcome for withholding beverages, and it was on our heads and we had only ourselves to blame, Hallie declared:
"I don't like those words. If that's what you're going to say to me, I'm just going to have to go shoot Colin."
Exit, stage right!
Her whole demeanor was so "hey, I didn't want it to come to this, but you leave me no choice," that Eli and I couldn't even respond. Basically, we just got schooled. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, and if certain parties of siblitude have to pay the price for parental malfeasance, hey, that's just spreading the karma out a little more evenly, isn't it?
Several minutes later, Hallie wanted something to drink. I was deep in the throes of painting something, so I referred her to Daddy. Daddy was deep in the throes of computing something, so he asked her to wait a minute. Apparently she had a thirst the likes of which has never been seen, so she waxed impatient within seconds, and the polite, singsong-y "May I please have something to drink" turned abruptly to a screechy "Give me something to drink right now!!"
Suddenly she had our undivided attention.
"Hallie, that is not the way you talk to people," said Eli. "It is not okay to yell at Daddy like that."
"But I wanted something to drink!"
"And I said I would get you something, in just one minute. You need to be patient."
Silence. Then, in a tone implying that this was the only possible outcome for withholding beverages, and it was on our heads and we had only ourselves to blame, Hallie declared:
"I don't like those words. If that's what you're going to say to me, I'm just going to have to go shoot Colin."
Exit, stage right!
Her whole demeanor was so "hey, I didn't want it to come to this, but you leave me no choice," that Eli and I couldn't even respond. Basically, we just got schooled. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, and if certain parties of siblitude have to pay the price for parental malfeasance, hey, that's just spreading the karma out a little more evenly, isn't it?
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Bigotry in a parking lot
Last night on KCET was a showing of "South Pacific", live from Lincoln Center. Aside from being a terrific show, this was especially significant because I actually know--or rather, knew--one of the cast members. Eric Anderson and I sang and performed together way back when my mom ran her children's chorale, and now there he is, mugging it up as...Stew Pot? Two Pots? Not sure, have to watch more closely...but wow, what an amazing thing, to see someone I grew up with, living out his dream on Broadway. He's so, so good.
So that's why I tuned in (and why it's recorded on my DVR), and I still haven't watched the whole thing, just bits and pieces. But I saw enough to remind myself of some of the subject matter, and to be surprised all over again at the honest portrayal of racism, particularly coming from that era...it just always takes me by surprise, and makes me wonder how shocking and provocative that was when it first opened, because I guess I have this notion that it just wasn't talked about, or at least certainly wasn't present in mainstream culture. Clearly, a mistaken assumption, at least to some extent.
So the song that stuck in my head was "You've Got to Be Carefully Taught"...it just kept spinning around and around in my brain as I was getting ready for bed, and I was idly musing about my grandparents, particularly my deceased grandfather, the opera singer, the musical theater man, the pretty darn bigoted guy, and wondering...did he ever sing that song? What did that mean to him? Did he know he was a bigot? Did it make him challenge that mindset, or was that just the way it was? I'll never know.
But then I suddenly remembered a disturbing incident I'd witnessed that very day--how it slipped my mind, I have no clue. I had pulled into an Albertson's parking lot with the kids--not a store I usually go to, but I was looking for something particular. As I parked, I noticed a group of three people--two men and a woman--in the next aisle, talking together next to an SUV. I don't even know why I took note, except that the woman had her head covered, and that drew my eye, and so I guess I made an automatic judgment of "Muslim", even though, head covering aside, nothing about her or either of her companions shouted any particular kind of thing other than "regular person". It looked like one man was showing the other two a piece of paper that seemed to have a picture on it, and the look on the woman's face was attentive and inquisitive. The other man wore sunglasses, so I couldn't read his expression.
The kids and I were getting ready to get out of the car, and as I opened my door I heard a raised voice, and glanced up to see the paper-bearing gentleman gesticulating and sounding angry, although I couldn't hear the words. I sat for a moment, wondering what was going on, as the woman's companion made some comment, finger raised--my take was censure of some sort. Here the angry man got even louder, shook his paper, and yelled, "I'm not the one who cut this woman's nose off, and put her picture on Time magazine!" He started to walk away, and then turned to deliver one last zinger: "There is only one Islam, and it's EVIL!" Then he turned and stalked into the store.
I sat there staring after him, holding my children back, wondering if I wanted to even go into the same store that this man had entered, to expose them to that level of hatred, and belatedly wanting to see if the other couple were all right, but they had already gotten in their car and driven away. I was awash with so many emotions: alarm, confusion, embarrassment for the way this man represented...I don't know what...America? Christians? White people? I don't know who he thought he was representing, I just didn't want it to be me.
And I could not stop thinking about how that whole exchange might have occurred, even though I had very little data to put together a hypothesis. But why was he carrying that picture? Why was he so prepared for a confrontation? Did he leave the house intending to find one? Was it some sort of evangelical campaign, to show Muslims the error of their faith? Or was he targeting Muslim Americans, holding individuals accountable for the actions of Muslims around the world? I'm certain that he thought he was on the right side...and maybe his intentions weren't all that misplaced, maybe he is truly moved to horror by the plight of women in the Muslim world, a position I applaud...but his methods...
And here was an uncomfortable thought...how did he know what faith that couple held, unless he, like me, made a snap judgment based on the woman's head cloth? What did that mean about me? And even the fact that I wanted to go apologize to those people, did that mean that I felt I was automatically in the crazy man's camp, abhorrent as I found him, and needed to apologize for my compatriot's actions, which meant that those people were...other? Or maybe I just wanted to distance myself from him, to say to them, "we're not all like that", except that that's still an "us & them" statement, isn't it? How do I escape that? How do I keep from passing that to my children?
And now here's that song again, "You've got to be taught to hate and fear" going round and round my head...
Weird how events can converge, sometimes.
So that's why I tuned in (and why it's recorded on my DVR), and I still haven't watched the whole thing, just bits and pieces. But I saw enough to remind myself of some of the subject matter, and to be surprised all over again at the honest portrayal of racism, particularly coming from that era...it just always takes me by surprise, and makes me wonder how shocking and provocative that was when it first opened, because I guess I have this notion that it just wasn't talked about, or at least certainly wasn't present in mainstream culture. Clearly, a mistaken assumption, at least to some extent.
So the song that stuck in my head was "You've Got to Be Carefully Taught"...it just kept spinning around and around in my brain as I was getting ready for bed, and I was idly musing about my grandparents, particularly my deceased grandfather, the opera singer, the musical theater man, the pretty darn bigoted guy, and wondering...did he ever sing that song? What did that mean to him? Did he know he was a bigot? Did it make him challenge that mindset, or was that just the way it was? I'll never know.
But then I suddenly remembered a disturbing incident I'd witnessed that very day--how it slipped my mind, I have no clue. I had pulled into an Albertson's parking lot with the kids--not a store I usually go to, but I was looking for something particular. As I parked, I noticed a group of three people--two men and a woman--in the next aisle, talking together next to an SUV. I don't even know why I took note, except that the woman had her head covered, and that drew my eye, and so I guess I made an automatic judgment of "Muslim", even though, head covering aside, nothing about her or either of her companions shouted any particular kind of thing other than "regular person". It looked like one man was showing the other two a piece of paper that seemed to have a picture on it, and the look on the woman's face was attentive and inquisitive. The other man wore sunglasses, so I couldn't read his expression.
The kids and I were getting ready to get out of the car, and as I opened my door I heard a raised voice, and glanced up to see the paper-bearing gentleman gesticulating and sounding angry, although I couldn't hear the words. I sat for a moment, wondering what was going on, as the woman's companion made some comment, finger raised--my take was censure of some sort. Here the angry man got even louder, shook his paper, and yelled, "I'm not the one who cut this woman's nose off, and put her picture on Time magazine!" He started to walk away, and then turned to deliver one last zinger: "There is only one Islam, and it's EVIL!" Then he turned and stalked into the store.
I sat there staring after him, holding my children back, wondering if I wanted to even go into the same store that this man had entered, to expose them to that level of hatred, and belatedly wanting to see if the other couple were all right, but they had already gotten in their car and driven away. I was awash with so many emotions: alarm, confusion, embarrassment for the way this man represented...I don't know what...America? Christians? White people? I don't know who he thought he was representing, I just didn't want it to be me.
And I could not stop thinking about how that whole exchange might have occurred, even though I had very little data to put together a hypothesis. But why was he carrying that picture? Why was he so prepared for a confrontation? Did he leave the house intending to find one? Was it some sort of evangelical campaign, to show Muslims the error of their faith? Or was he targeting Muslim Americans, holding individuals accountable for the actions of Muslims around the world? I'm certain that he thought he was on the right side...and maybe his intentions weren't all that misplaced, maybe he is truly moved to horror by the plight of women in the Muslim world, a position I applaud...but his methods...
And here was an uncomfortable thought...how did he know what faith that couple held, unless he, like me, made a snap judgment based on the woman's head cloth? What did that mean about me? And even the fact that I wanted to go apologize to those people, did that mean that I felt I was automatically in the crazy man's camp, abhorrent as I found him, and needed to apologize for my compatriot's actions, which meant that those people were...other? Or maybe I just wanted to distance myself from him, to say to them, "we're not all like that", except that that's still an "us & them" statement, isn't it? How do I escape that? How do I keep from passing that to my children?
And now here's that song again, "You've got to be taught to hate and fear" going round and round my head...
Weird how events can converge, sometimes.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
My daughter is missing the point.
"Penalty boxes" (aka time-outs) are supposed to be dreaded episodes of consequential discipline for serious transgressions, such as, just as a for instance, throwing a Wow Wow Wubbzy hand-held video game squarely at your brother's head. The appropriate attitude should be dismay at having gotten oneself into this situation, contrition for the act, and a resolve not to do it again. At least for the next half hour. Apparently it's not working out that way.
Hallie's penalty box is a booster seat strapped to a folding chair, placed in the living room (where it clashes horribly with the surrounding decor) because it's the only place boring enough to (hopefully) engender the proper spirit of reflection and apology. Eli wandered downstairs this evening and happened to see her sitting in it (after the video game incident), and, because conversation or vocalizations of any kind are strictly prohibited while in penalty box, he quickly averted his eyes so as not to engage her--but not before she gave him a saucy wink, grabbed the dangling, unused safety strap, and buckled herself in.
A minute or so later, the timer went off, signaling the end of the allotted time, and Eli came back around the corner to tell her she could get up now--the next step being apologizing to her brother for braining him. She refused.
"I can't, Daddy. I'm still in the air."
Apparently she had just come from a lavish ball, and was jetting home--Princess Airline, no doubt--and could not possibly get out of her chair, because the seat belt light was not on, and she could clearly see the ground far, far below, so it just wouldn't be safe to wander around the aircraft before it landed.
Sigh.
I think we need a new disciplinary tool.
"Penalty boxes" (aka time-outs) are supposed to be dreaded episodes of consequential discipline for serious transgressions, such as, just as a for instance, throwing a Wow Wow Wubbzy hand-held video game squarely at your brother's head. The appropriate attitude should be dismay at having gotten oneself into this situation, contrition for the act, and a resolve not to do it again. At least for the next half hour. Apparently it's not working out that way.
Hallie's penalty box is a booster seat strapped to a folding chair, placed in the living room (where it clashes horribly with the surrounding decor) because it's the only place boring enough to (hopefully) engender the proper spirit of reflection and apology. Eli wandered downstairs this evening and happened to see her sitting in it (after the video game incident), and, because conversation or vocalizations of any kind are strictly prohibited while in penalty box, he quickly averted his eyes so as not to engage her--but not before she gave him a saucy wink, grabbed the dangling, unused safety strap, and buckled herself in.
A minute or so later, the timer went off, signaling the end of the allotted time, and Eli came back around the corner to tell her she could get up now--the next step being apologizing to her brother for braining him. She refused.
"I can't, Daddy. I'm still in the air."
Apparently she had just come from a lavish ball, and was jetting home--Princess Airline, no doubt--and could not possibly get out of her chair, because the seat belt light was not on, and she could clearly see the ground far, far below, so it just wouldn't be safe to wander around the aircraft before it landed.
Sigh.
I think we need a new disciplinary tool.
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