Thru the Eyes of a Child

As a mom, I often struggle with maintaining a balance - preserving their innocence and sheltering them too much.  I want them to grow up with a good grasp on the world around them, but there are somethings you just shouldn't know about at such a young age.  I was raised to believe that people are people - they may be good or bad, but skin color is not a indicator of either of these.  I hope that my children are being raised with the same outlook.  A recent outing makes me think they are.

We have some friends ... they happen to have darker skin than our family.  I'm not sure that a comment has ever been made about this.  I figured that fact registered about as much as the color of my eyes.  On any given day, we are much more concerned with what new toys they have or the impending arrival of their much anticipated (after two recent boys!) baby girl.

There was to be a baby shower for said family.  Due to growing pains at work, I would be dragging three kids with me.  They were much more excited than I was. 

The conversation went something like this:
Little Man:  "Momma, who's party is it?"
Me:  "It's for Mrs. P's baby.  Remember, her name is Payton?"
Little Man:  "I don't remember Mrs. P"
Me:  "Sure you do!  She is 'Parkmer's mommy. Remember?"
Little Man:  "I don't remember her.  What does she look like?"
Diva:  "Yes you do!  She has brown skin.  Her hair is brown and so are her eyes." *sounding quite exasperated at all the questions*
Little Man:  "Why does she have brown skin?"
*at this point I am trying to come up with a four-year-old answer to the question, all the while wondering why all the big conversations must happen while driving*
Diva:  "Because that's how God made her. We have white skin and some people have brown skin 'cause that's how God wanted to make them."
Little Man:  "Okay.  Is there going to be cake at the party?"

Hmm, maybe it isn't all that hard of a question after all ...
It isn't the color of your skin that matters.  It's whether you have cake at the party.
Mrs. P is okay people ... there was cake at her party!





Iron Chefs

We own an Easy Bake Oven.  I purchased it with idealistic dreams of teaching my daughter my own love of baking.  We used it once.  That was all it took.  The size of the mess was very disproportionate to the size of cake we made.  How can it take an hour to clean up when the ingredients list consists of teaspoons of water!?!  Since that day, the beloved oven has been stored on a high shelf in the laundry room.  It has acquired an impressive layer of dust. 

All of that changed this week: 
I love my sister.  She does all those things that make her a favorite aunt and make me wish I still had a cleaning service.  The Easy Bake Oven is a perfect example ...

Dessert pizza was the decided upon dish.  Pizza dough.  If you don't cook, let me tell you what that means - flour ... lots of flour!

A little flour goes a long way.  I am reasobably certain there was less than a cup of flour used in the whole process.  My kitchen looked more like an entire bag was used.  The pizza dough might not have been edible, but it certainly wasn't going to stick to anything!  Table, chairs, floor, hair - flour was everywhere.

Little Man, smiling as he said it "I put fwour on my feet, so pizza won't stick to them"

Perfect!  I hate when dinner sticks to your feet! 
Back to that oven and the idealistic dreams ... they are now safely back on the laundry room shelf.  Maybe we will try again next year.  Without the flour ...

The Ugly Truth

Discipline can be a challenge. This isn't news to anyone that has kids, knows someone that has kids or has stood in line at the store next to someone that has kids. Different people meet the challenge in different ways. In our house, a conscious effort is made to avoid spankings. These are reserved for only the most serious offenses (i.e. removing your seatbelt in a moving car, running away from me in a parking lot, etc.). It has never made sense to me to spank a child for hitting. Aren't you saying "You can't hit, but I can." in doing so? Alright, off the soapbox and back to the story ...
In our house, time-out is a frequent punishment. We have a designated time-out area. However, rarely does someone occupy the spot willingly. On a particularly rough day, Miss Diva was fast approaching another trip to time-out. Upon being warned of this, her mouth only served to speed her arrival.

It went something like this:
Me: "Keep it up and you will go back to time-out."
Diva: "No! I'm not going!"
Me: "Did you just tell me no?"
Diva: "I'm not going to time-out. You're a mean Mommy! You're being ugly!"
Me: "I'm done. Go to time-out, now!" *heading towards her direction to hasten the process*
Diva: "No Momma! No! You're not that ugly Momma! You're not that mean! Momma, you're not that ugly!"

Do you know how hard it is to carry out a punishment when trying not to laugh? I am so relieved to learn I am not as ugly as once feared ... apparently still ugly, but not THAT ugly.