The reality of fantasy (or, Tom, what do you think?)

This past Christmas, Tom and I disagreed about whether Edith believes in Santa Claus. She never has said anything suggesting he doesn't exist, and Tom was sure she was a true believer yet. I thought that as smart as she is at making inferences about storylines and people, and as clear as an eight year old must be about physical reality and logic, she had put two and two together but appreciates the fantasy of Santa Claus so much that she continues to perpetuate it alongside us.  Tom felt that that was too convoluted a maneuver and that his simpler answer must be right.

So. The other day in the car I teasingly accused Edith of having no imagination. I forget the scenario, but she was asserting a big-sister moment of literalism in picking apart the logic of something quirky Alice had said.

"I have no imagination?" Edith protested. "I believe in Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, and the Easter Bunny, and you say I have no imagination? Really, Mom."

Dissect that one, Tom, and let's talk again.

Shakespeare, Take Two

I was getting dinner on the table; Edith was hovering.

"I didn't steal anyone's [bell] peppers [from their salad]," she said. "I didn't steal anyone's peppers." She kept dancing around repeating that she hadn't stolen any peppers.

"'Methinks thou doth protest too much,'" I said, then paused. "You're interested in Shakespeare. That's Shakespeare. Have you heard that phrase before?" I asked.

She shook her head no.

"Have you read it?"

She shook her head.

"Do you understand what it means?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Really? What does it mean?"

"You use it when someone is repeating that they didn't do something. They keep saying it over and over, to the point that it's suspicious, and it becomes obvious that they actually did do it and are trying to cover it up." She smiled, appreciating the idea. "Like when Calvin in Calvin and Hobbes pulls the faucet off the bathroom sink, and water is spurting everywhere, and he dances downstairs singing, 'Everything's fine, everything's fine, I just would like to gather all our buckets, everything's fine.'"

I love watching a child educate herself.

Grown-up birthday

Once again stealing a spot on the girls' blog to post a few pictures of adult birthday fun.

With several weeks' advance planning, savvy marketing, and a continued influx of energy and enthusiasm, we were delighted (and a little astonished) that we persuaded four couples with new babies (plus older kids) all to get babysitters and join us for an adults-only birthday dinner in downtown Philadelphia. Only a late-breaking case of food poisoning (thanks, Baldwin cafeteria pizza) laid low one of our number. A couple of friends without kids came, too, and there we were, 11 adults out on a Friday night, mostly parents of young children, and no one fell asleep at the table. We didn't even talk about children much.

I've always enjoyed bringing together friends from different parts of my life and have had too few chances to do it recently, so it was a kick to have

-friend (+ wife) from childhood, grades K-8
-friend (+ wife) from college
-friend (+husband) from early parenting days in Princeton
-2 friends (+ one spouse) from the last 18 months at Baldwin
-me and Tom

Despite the disparate origins of the group, sliced and diced another way we had

-7 parents of baby boys born in 2013
-4 psychologists
-3 Jennifers
-3 Wash U. grads

...and a bunch of mojitos and a lot of fun.

So not the greatest phone pictures, but just as a record of the evening (and so Mom can see the dress Alice picked out for me):

 

Birthday cupcakes with the girls before we left. Happened on a great new babysitter, one of my advisees, who gets major points for doing the dishes (including pots) and putting them all away!

 

Jen, Andrew, Jen, Ashley

 Ben, Tom

 Jordana, Joe

 Ashley, Vic, me

 Ben, Tom, lobster

Vic and me

Belated Christmas photos to come...

Good answer

With freezing rain falling outside, six inches of slush on all the roads, and a thick fog setting in, I decided to register Edith for summer camp.

"With which race does the camper identify?" asked the form.

"Edith," I dutifully queried, "what race are you?"

"Human," she said.

She looked up in surprise only when I started laughing.

Lessons I never learned

Not for the first time in recent weeks, "uh oh":

Alice was helping me shop for a new dress at the local thrift store. We were going through a heap of dresses we'd culled from the racks, but after awhile she lost her focus as sartorial critic and began vamping in front of the mirror herself. She'd been singing Christmas carols when she stopped and said matter-of-factly,

"I know how girls get boys to like them."

How, I asked.

"They close their eyelids halfway," she said, trying to suit the action the word.

Huh, I asked. How do you know that?

"I see it all the times in magazines!" she said confidently. "They don't open their eyes wide like this, and smile and wave and say hello. Don't do that if you like someone. That doesn't make them fall in love. Instead they close their eyelids halfway and walk by without saying anything. That's what you have to do. Then the boys fall in love and ask to marry them."

Later Alice shared this insight with Edith in the car. Edith agreed and expanded, "Yes, and it helps if they're wearing a sleeveless sparkly outfit in really inconvenient weather for that sort of thing."

I think Edith's answer was laced with subtle sarcasm about the follies of advertisements. But Alice, I fear, was in dead earnest.

Someone, please help.