Pearls of Wisdom

Yesterday, in honor of Thanksgiving, Sam had a few pearls of wisdom to share with me, that I'm going to share with all of you. It's either that, or work out, or do laundry, and I'm still in a bit of Thanksgiving fog, so the longer I can put working out, the happier I'll be.

First, when she came to wake me up, Sam yanked my covers off (a technique I really dislike, by the way) and pointed out that my stomach now sometimes sticks out from under my shirt (only at night, when I'm still trying to make do with clothes I already have, it's not like I strut around like that during the day). Judging by the laughter, this was quite possibly the funniest thing she has ever witnessed. After she followed me to the the bathroom and amid a few gasps of laughter punctuated by choked out phrases, "Your belly....gasp gasp...sticks out...giggle giggle...of your shirt!!!" I finally got irritated and said, "Hey, Sam, give me a break, my belly is getting big, ok?"
Upon realizing she might have hurt my feelings, she immediately sobered up, and looked at me thoughtfully. Then she said "Hey, mom, it's true that your belly is getting bigger. Like its getting really really really a lot big. But, you've got a baby in there! Either that, or a giant hot dog. And you know what, Mom? Either way, it's totally ok. It's ok."
Awww, thanks, Sweetie. You managed to simultaneously exacerbate and help my body image issues. What can I say, she's a talented kid.

But Sam woke up feisty on Thanksgiving morning, and she wasn't yet finished sharing her theories on life. We scooped up Peyton, and headed downstairs to eat breakfast and start cooking our additions to the extended family Thanksgiving. I turned on the TV to hopefully keep them out of my hair while I wrestled with an orange roll recipe that I only have about a 20% success rate making (although it worked yesterday! Boom!). Unfortunately, the TV was showing one of those abused dog Sarah Maclachlan commercials. I hate those anyway, but when I'm pregnant, forget it. Niagra falls. To make matters worse, I realized Sam was starting intently at the commercial, and I could tell there was a question brewing. Sam has not asked a single question in over two years. Everything has at least 37 follow ups. After only about 5 seconds, not enough time for me to change the channel, here it came. "Mom, why are those animals so sad looking?"
Super, I was going to kick off my holiday trying to teach my kid about animal abuse. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! (In case you're wondering why I don't just make something up to end the conversation, lying to Sam isn't just a moral conundrum for me, it's a physical impossibility. I'm a horrible liar to start with, and she's so smart, and there's so many follow-up questions, it's just too much to keep track of a web of deception on the fly. The few times I've tried, it's unraveled on me so fast, that I realized there was just no point even trying. So, she gets an age-appropriate honest approach, and I get migraines. That's where we stand.)
So, I sucked it up and said "Those animals are sad because the people they lived with, didn't treat them nicely." Then I waited for follow up question #1.
Instead, Sam looked thoughtful for a moment, and slowly added "Nope. I don't think that's it."
"What do you mean, that's not it?"
Sam shook her head and said "That's not why they're sad. Those animals are sad because those guys (meaning the rescuers) has them stuck in those little cages. I bet if they let them out, they'd look much happier! Geez!" She was disgusted.
This was an interesting approach, I admit I'd never thought about. The more I thought about it, the more Sam seemed to be onto something there. After all, these animals had already been rescued from abuse, and now had reason to be happy, but sure enough, they were all in cages. What animal looks happy behind bars? All of a sudden, I was laughing. Here they were, trying to be all heavy handed and induce guilt and my four-year-old is sitting there thinking the rescue operation was the reason the dogs were still sad. Maybe the problem was you, Sarah? Ever think about that? Sam wasn't buying the manipulation they were selling. I was sitting there trying not to cry at the sad animals, and my logical 4-year-old daughter was getting all cynical on me. Consider my mind blown at the total role-reversal.
Sometimes, I just love that kid so much, it hurts my guts. She is just so much her own independent person. She's got the softest heart I know, but try and manipulate her, and she sees right through it, and she will not have that crap! Will not have it!

Something tells me my little Sam will be okay in this messed up world.