Some Heresy is in the Eyes of the Beholder

This isn't what you think.  I haven't plunged into a gnostic or relativistic way of being.  I've merely learned what constitutes gospel to a three year old.   Like most heretics, I learned by running afoul of her professed orthodoxy.   My daughter loves Dora the Explorer and I have promoted and enabled this love via daily showings when I want a few minutes off to make a list and gather my thoughts for the day. 

This morning she was holding a stuffed musical monkey before her baby brother and saying, "Ariba up, Abaho down" as she illustrated.  I mused about whether or not we needed to cut her off from central supply or at least Nick Jr. for a while since I knew she had memorized a serious number of songs.  But I let it slide.  She's three and she loves it; and given that this little girl was once so silent we arranged for speech, I did not want to crush her love. 

Now as any parent knows, if you want a toddler to do something, you must play the game "Guess my motivation." and I thought I'd come up with a winner to pair what she liked with what I wanted.  "What could be better?" I thought.  We already had the Dora the Explorer Potty Ring, I could sing a little Dora the Explorer song about the map to the bathroom and sing, "When you know you gotta go, there's a place that you should know..." and I could even work in Swiper about hand washing if I wanted to; it was perfect!  I made my pitch to begin potty training.  "Hey Gina! If you get potty trained like Dora, you can have some Dora the Explorer pull ups and underwear! Wouldn't that be great?"

That time around 11:30 yesterday morning, when you gritted your teeth but didn't know why?  That was the beginning of her response. A deep breath.  A long wail followed by a deeper breath. "DORA...ISN'T...POTTY...TRAINED!" She bit her teeth in between each word. Tears streamed.  I was in partial shock as she balled her hands into fists and stomped, approaching me with barely contained three year old hulk smash fury. "NO POTTY TRAINING! NOT DORA!  DORA ISN'T POTTY TRAINED! SHE NOT! SHE'S NOT! SHE'S NOT!  SHE...DOESN'T...EVEN...GO...TO...THE...BATHROOM!" 

My four year old attempted damage control in a surprisingly rational manner.  "Gina, Dora HAS to be potty trained.  She's on underwear and pull-ups. She doesn't wear diapers on TV.  And, I have Dora underwear."  For her the matter was settled.  This second undermining of my daughter's world was more than she could bear.  She ran into her room and shut the door.

Mom pursued.  Okay, I did call my mom who assured me, "You'll think of something."

"Gina?"  I put on my solicitous mom voice.  "Gina?"

She gave me a suspicious look like "you aren't going to proselytize that potty training lie again are you?" She had her thumb poised just outside her closed pouty mouth as if to have it on call in case of further emergency. 

"Gina, I want you to listen to me."  I prayed I'd have the right pitch to get through the next three minutes without causing further despair or permanent damage.  "Gina, Dora wasn't Always potty trained.  She used diapers and then pull ups and then underwear and she wants you to do the same thing.  Just like Dora did."  She put down her thumb and looked into my eyes.  Her face was still streaked with tears but she gave a slight nod that my explanation was at the very least, acceptable.  A few hugs and all was right as rain until we came down the stairs.  She handed me the remote and asked for a bit of TV.   

"What are we watching?" my other daughter asked?
I scrolled through the offerings.  "Max and Ruby kids."  I announced, and peace reigned....for now. 
'

That Sinking Feeling

 I used to be the crusader for the home. Every day when the school kids go off with their father in the car, I mild mannered blogger and mother began my survey of the home. Like Batgirl, I prowled in the hidden corners of the closet, daring to look where children might have left nefarious deeds with the hopes of going undetected. An apple core, a pile of laundry, a forgotten notebook for an important project at school, a lunch box with the food from a meal they didn't like, I'd seen it all.

But now, not only must I guard this fair domicile from the crimes of established children, I have a new set of villains that are surprising not only for their boldness, but for their utter indifference to the laws of the land. I speak of the four and a half and the almost 3 year old. They have discovered water. They have discovered that every sink pours it without ceasing if you turn the knob and worst of all, they have discovered the plug.

It began with the ordinary brushing of teeth. My daughter asked to do it herself and unwittingly, I abetted her fledgling life of crime. The other sibling watched with great interest and took great joy in her sister's new found power. I went to get clothing so they could get dressed. I returned to find both sinks filled and two very wet girls with at least 50 toys in each "bath" respectively. Trying to stay focused, I told myself, the floor needed mopping anyway and I'll just sponge them down and no harm really done.

But the day wore on and it happened again when one of them went to wash up for lunch. That's a second bathroom clean I told myself as I wiped up the excess and explained that Pony and Dolphin (both residing in the sink) did NOT need a long bath before lunch and would have to dry before being played with again.
To keep order, I survey each room of our home every day. The basement usually draws everyone in, with all the toys and the larger TV and the Wii. Today, my daughters locked themselves in their sister's bathroom.

The door was one that did not have a lock that could be picked. I was at the mercy of my pitiful powers of persuasion. I offered food. The sink kept running. I mentioned toys. The splashes continued. I asked if I could join them. "No!" and more giggles. I ran upstairs and got the screw driver. I'd take the lock off entirely. Working quickly as there were now trickle sounds in addition to the faucet running and giggles, I heard one daughter suddenly grasp the idea that maybe this wasn't smart.

"Mom!" she was panicking. "I don't remember how to shut the water off!" "Open the door!" I offered, still furiously trying to pry the doorknob from the door. "It's stuck." The door knob was beginning to loosen but if it fell off inside from my attempt, the lock would remain. I could hear mini Niagara forming and two wet daughters getting a bit scared. "Don't worry!" I soothed or tried to, as I was starting to get antsy too, "Just turn the knobs one at a time." The water stopped pouring. They were still locked in, they were complaining about being sopping wet.

I needed them to turn the remaining stub of my side of the knob to get out, but I thought they would be afraid not to see me. I needed inspiration to get them out. Before I could say anything, one daughter said to the other, "Oh my goodness, Dora the Explorer is on." and out they came leaving me to retighten the knob I'd messed with, and mop up the mess.

As they sat in fresh dry clothes watching Nickelodeon, I surrendered to the sad reality that I'm no longer Batgirl; just Commissioner Gordon who now flashes the Dora Signal when danger threatens Gotham City.

The Girl Who Cried Swiper!

One of my favorite shows to watch was Deep Space Nine. I liked it better than the New Generation, Enterprise or Ugh, Voyager. It ran a close contest with Babylon Five for sheer quotability and the capacity to do something with a sci-fi scenario other than resort to technobable and pc solutions.

The writers used the existence of aliens to allow for different perceptions of reality to be explored in a conversational manner. One of the best at conveying this sort of insight was Garack, the Cardasian tailor/spy ousted from his world and government. When told the story of the Boy who Cried Wolf, he explained a different interpretation of the outcome; "that you should never tell the same lie twice."

Children often make us rethink our preconceptions about how things are understood.

My four year old is a big Dora the Explorer fan. So we've watched her Christmas special about Swiper being placed on Santa's naughty list. The fox must go about his past rectifying times when his past self was selfish and refused to share in order to garner a present from present day old Saint Nick. It's sort of a Christmas Carol with Dora as the guide of past, present and future. What did Dickens do to deserve this...well, there's Little Dorrit, but I digress.

When my sister-in-law gave us two bags full of beautiful outfits, this same four year old kept pouncing on the very best outfits, most of which her younger sister wanted as well. After she'd claimed the patent leather shoes and velvet red dress and a satin blue purse as hers permanently, I reminded her of the Dora special. "Don't you want to share? Didn't you learn like Swiper that it's more important to share."

She flashed those glowering brown eyes at me, "No. Swiper didn't have to share until the end. He got all the toys and then just had to share a little."

In a way, she wasn't wrong, and in the same way, neither was Garack.
So it would seem, I have work to do.