So my girl comes home yesterday and says it's her shoulder mate's birthday tomorrow and she'll be in her workshop making him something. A shoulder mate, for the uninitiated, is the person who sits next to you at the table (or diagonal -- it wasn't clear). So she comes down and she's made this contraption with feathers and wood bits. Me: What is it? She: I don't know. Me: May I suggest making him a lanyard instead?
I mean, the kid is almost ten. Do I seriously have to tell her not to make the sort of present that only a mother would love? But I'm so delighted that she has exhibited sufficient awareness of the world that she even knows this kid's name and has managed to remember that his birthday is tomorrow that I don't quibble. So shoulder mate is getting both the feathered creation and a lanyard snake today.
I was part of a movement of "dinosaur moms" when I lived in Maryland (Astrodon Johnstoni is the Maryland state dinosaur.) Which is nothing more than this -- dinosaur moms delight in the half-feral nature of the beasties they parent, even as they whisper Shakespeare and Kierkegaard in their ears at night.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
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