So this guy is posting videos of conversations with his two year old, as reenacted by himself and another grown man. They are very funny, especially the cookie convo in episode #3. I’ve had that conversation, or a version of it, on several occasions with both my kids.
So it got me thinking about conversations with my own children and I thought I’d share two gems that occurred just this morning, in the span of 3o minutes, with my three year old daughter.
Little Miss, at a young age, took a vested interest in her clothing, to the point where we started having arguments over what character she wanted to wear on her underwear when she was barely two. For the record, I do not give a hoot what she chooses, I just want her to choose…and therein lies the issue most mornings. The upside is that she has now started to thank me for washing her favorite undies.
Today’s clothing drama had to do with shoes. The conversation went something like this.
Me: Do you guys have your socks and shoes on? We need to leave.
Little Miss: No. I want to wear flip-flops.
Me: You can’t wear flip-flops. No open toed shoes at school because you play outside.
LM: (pouting): I want to wear flip-flops like you.
Me: I’m wearing sandals. And I don’t get to play outside.
LM: You don’t get to play outside? (Accompanied by the saddest face ever so now I’m feeling bad I have to go sit in an office).
Me: No, but you do, so let’s get shoes on.
LM: I want to wear Cinderella shoes. With socks.
Me: Fine (and we get her in shoes).
As I’m locking the door, she turns to me and says, “These hurt, I want my fast shoes (that’s what she calls her sneakers).
And I wonder why I’m never on time.
The second conversation gem took place in the car.
LM: I want Minnie Mouse.
Me: Where is Minnie Mouse?
Me: Honey, I’m driving the car, I can’t see her.
LM: She’s right there.
Me (straining to see where she is pointing in the rearview mirror): On the floor?
Me: Sweets, I’m driving on the freeway, I can’t reach her right now. You’ll have to wait.
LM: You are not driving the freeway, you are driving the car.
Me: Right, I’m driving the car on the freeway.
LM (a little quieter): You are driving the car, not the freeway.
She always has to have the last word.
By the way, the second conversation took place after she ate it in the parking lot when dropping her brother off. She was walking on the curb, slipped and scrapped her knee, then freaked out when it started to bleed. I tried to console her with kisses but she only wanted a Band-Aid, which, thankfully, I found in the glove compartment shoved between sunglasses and my car’s user manual.
Note to self, restock the car with Band-Aids.