CafeMom and other stuff

10.30.07

There is a place on the internet called Cafemom, if you mothers out there aren’t already spending way too much time on the internet.  One can spend hours there writing journals, reading journals, venting, ranting, giving advice, and arguing Christianity versus Atheism.  Mostly the last one, and whether that is good or bad depends upon how much you like impossible arguments.  Me?  Well, I get enough of those at home, thanks.

 

“It’s too cold to wear shorts today.  Yes, I realize the sun is shining, but it’s still too cold to wear shorts.  Trust me, it’s too cold to wear shorts.  Ok, let’s put on your shoes so we can go.  No, it’s too cold to wear sandals.”

 

And on and on and on, world without end, amen. 

 

But here’s something cool:  I joined a group of people on Cafemom who have 4 year olds.  Which means I’m not the only person in the world arguing daily about the weather.  I’m also not the only person in the world who has a kid who can wipe the front but still can’t reach the back.  I have to tell you, this makes me feel great!  I can always findsomeone else living with the exact same weirdness that I live with.  And that is a cool thing.

 

The downside is I can always find people who are happy to let me in on the little secret that my soul will burn in hell for all eternity because I think church is boring.

 

I guess you can’t win them all, can you?

 

Once in a while I find cute little messages in my inbox that say, “I will pray for you.”  This is meant to insult me, which I find amusing because I’m okay with people praying for me.  I pray sometimes, too, although I don’t go around bragging about it.  Go ahead and pray for me, especially if you think your prayers are going to hurt me, because I don’t think it works that way.  And if you think it does, then perhaps you need to re-examine your definition of what it means to be Christ-like (definition number 4 of “Christian” at dictionary.com).

 

Anyway.  That wasn’t my point.  My point was that my beautiful daughter is quite normal, as much as a 4 year old can be considered normal.  She can be the sweetest, most well-mannered child in the world, and an hour later the most horrid little brat ever.  She argues, she dawdles, she races.  She doesn’t want to hold my hand in parking lots.  She doesn’t want to wear her seat belt.  She gives me a hundred kisses, but she loves Daddy more.  Until she skins her knee, and then only Mommy can make it better.  Until Mommy says she can’t have a 3rd bowl of ice cream, then she only wants Daddy.

 

I think her grasp of the English language is phenomenal.  The other day she said with perfect diction, “Yes, yes, indeed, indeed.”  The same day she was laying on the landing at the bottom of the stairs and said, “You can’t expect me to walk up all of those stairs – I’m just a little baby!”  The same day the printer was disconnected from the computer and she screamed, “Now I can NEVER print any pictures EVER AGAIN!” The same day she watched the movie Narnia in it’s entirety without falling asleep even for a minute (wow, I can’t even pull that one off).

 

Every day she says or does something that knocks my socks off.  She navigates the pbskids.org website like a pro.  And the telephone – she suddenly loves talking on the phone.  A friend called me the other day, and his son wanted to say hello to my daughter, and the next thing you know a playdate has been scheduled.  At THEIR convenience.  I had to wrestle the phone away from Little Miss Grown-Up.

 

In fact, she acts so grown-up that now and again I make an error in judgment. She’s been talking about a “Spooky Walk” at school, so I figured a li’l haunted garage would be right up her alley.  I even called it a spooky walk for her benefit.  But the pale silent child that came out of that garage was not the same spunky costumed fairy that went in.  Um, whoops.  She recovered, however, when she remembered the warning that had been called into the garage as she entered, “Take it easy, there’s a 2 year old coming through.” 

 

Nothing offends her sensibilities more than being called a 2 year old.  Not even a scary guy in a glowing skull mask that appears out of thin air.  Whew.  Saved, once again, by the indomitable spirit of a 4 year old.