Yeah, I'm phoning this in today. I've got tons to do around the house before the Tsunami gets home from preschool and we get deeply involved in planning her Ariel Little Mermaid birthday party. She loves being a mermaid. The other day we took a 90 minute bath during which she stayed in character the entire time. Yeah, I said "90." The only reason I made her get out was the fact that I was starting to scour my brain for any research or studies showing long baths to be dangerous and mothers who allow them to be negligent. Even though I couldn't think of any, I made good use of the BBDD's Decision-Making Rule of Thumb: imagine explaining it exactly as you would to someone after the fact and see how bad it sounds. If it sounds bad, stop doing what you're doing. (e.g. "well you see, I know she'd been in the bath for an hour and a half and was getting wrinkly, but I had NO IDEA that that seemed a bit excessive for a three year-old...") Yeah. Time to get out. (He instituted his D-M R of T after I mentioned back in the day that I drove myself to Hopkins for platelets, got benadryl that made me sleep like crazy, but that I felt fine enough to drive home an hour and a half later, so he didn't need to drive me. He said it out loud: "Oh, Officer, well you see she said she was fine and I had a meeting and what's 60 mg of benadryl to a 110 pound woman anyway? And I know she's kind of ill and all but I had this meeting..." He took my car keys and never gave them back).
Anyway, so we got out. And then kept on playing Ariel only "this time she's not in the water she's got her human feet on and her princess dress and you are visiting her and Jasmine and Mulan at Disneyworld and you can't find her because she is stuck in traffic in the parking lot but don't worry she will be back to her grotto soon so you just wait and chat with her friend Flounder and his friend [a stuffed dog in her room] named 'Brian Honeyname.' And then Ariel will make you some yummy chicken broth and you can take some home to your mommy and daddy because who doesn't like chicken broth." It was like living in a cartoon on fast-forward. Although, most days with her feel that way; she got a new stuffed sheep whose name is "bedubadudeblabadaudoododadoodododdooo [said extremely quickly], but he just goes by 'Boobie'."
And speaking of boobies and stuff, she has noticed that grown ups have hair "down there." And she is NOT at all impressed. She wanted to know if daddies have hair too. I said that most grownups have hair there (making the judicious decision to leave waxing, shaving and threading for another conversation perhaps in 15 years...), to which she replied that [boy's name] at school goes to the potty with the door open and he has a penis because he's a boy but "it not a hairy penis because he not a grownup yet." Hoping to forestall any further discussion that might find its way out of the home and into the preschool and then into the Department of Social Services I just said, "and what we'll do next time is give [boy's name] his privacy, even if the door is open...hey! want to play Ariel for 3 hours?!!" Crisis averted...Mama's sanity further eroded.
So that's where I'm headed. Back into the Land of Ariel, Mermaid Ninja Warrior Bus Driver Chef. I hope you're headed into an awesome weekend, one that starts now. :)