B Is For Yellow

“A is for apple, ah-ah-ah,” She sings from the backseat.  I smile because she really is learning the letter sounds so fast.

She continues, “B is for yellow, like banana’s, Yuh, yuh, yuh, C is for cat, ss, ss ss,  D is for boy. buh buh boy….”

Okay. So, really, she is learning the letter sounds. I swear this is part of the learning process. It sounds demented though. I think maybe a five of the letters actually matched up to their sounds in her little song. Cute, but demented.

I think a lot of her antics meet that definition.  I think that a lot of parents feel that way about our kids. We’re fascinated by other people’s complete conviction that our children are utterly adorable. I think a lot of us want to point out to people the amount of work it takes to get a toddler or preschooler to sit singing in the grocery cart when they’re cooing over our kid.

Yes. My kid is cute. She’s also a completely demented dictator who is being polite because she doesn’t know you. If she knew you, then the conversation you’re having would be different.

Polite conversation with Fiona:

Fiona: Hi. I Fiona. I two. What’s your name?
Stranger: Oh! Hi Sweetie! I’m Clara. Aren’t you just the cutest thing. Are you helping mommy grocery shop?
Fiona: Yes! We bought banana’s and Cheerios

Normal conversation with Fiona:

Fiona: Hi!
Auntie: Hi Fiona! I love you!
Fiona: I love you, too!
Auntie: Are you having fun playing today?
Fiona: No. I scream. I cry. I go poop! It was a big worm! You come play with me now!

See, cute, but demented. Not terribly polite.  It’s a lot of work and it doesn’t always work.

Fiona was rather convinced that she should compliment a woman in the YMCA’s locker room by telling her she was very, very big. She insisted that she must have eaten all of her dinner. Always. Loudly.

The matter wasn’t helped by the two twiggy teenage girls who giggled at her words.  I tried explaining that women don’t like to be called big, so it wasn’t a nice thing to say. She really didn’t understand.

I apologized to the woman. I don’t think she really understood either.

Sometimes though, no matter how hard I try to explain polite and nice, she doesn’t always grasp it. Sometimes it’s a little like the alphabet, she starts to get it, but not all of the connections are there yet.

Sometimes, B is for yellow.

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4 thoughts on “B Is For Yellow

  1. I would rather she tell me about all her adventures, even if she is a little bossy tyrant. I am actually looking forward to her bossing me around for a week, because before she gets to be a pill, I get to leave, and then I will miss her. 22 more days!

Talk to me, Baby!

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