I think it's time for another week-in-review. Last time, Grace had received her first haircut at The Greatest Hair Salon in the World, just in time for her first day of preschool. This time around, Grace shows us how brave she truly is, and I enter a battle of wits with William. Finally, Grace makes her first gross generalization, and insults an entire nation of people.
Grace is a well-known scaredy cat. For example, she sprints to her room whenever the MGM lion comes on the TV screen, and won't turn on her electric toothbrush (frankly, I think jamming a plastic Cinderella into my mouth every night would be the weird part, but whatever). Yet, she handled her very first trip to the dentist on Thursday like a hero. She answered questions, talked to the dentist and permitted the very scraping and prodding that I've spent most of my adult life dreading. Perhaps it was the repeated readings of "Just Going to the Dentist" that we subjected her to last week.
In other news, William has figured out that he can reach the light switch in his bedroom, which is just behind the footboard of his crib: If he stands in the corner he can easily reach around and flick it on and off.
Tuesday night, shortly after putting him down for bed, I saw a thin strip of light appear beneath his bedroom door. I went in and told him, "It's time for night-night now, William. Keep the light off."
I flicked it off and shut the door. Moments later it was back on.
I went back into his room and pushed his crib up against the wall as far as it would go, so that there was less than an inch between the footboard and the switch itself. However, I didn't consider the ultra-thin hands of a 2-year-old. I walked out and the light was back on almost instantly. "I'll fix your little wagon," I thought, and went back into his room.
He immediately threw himself down onto his mattress and assumed an expression that said, "What, me? Oh, I'm just peacefully sleeping in my bed and dreaming about duckies and bunnies and how much I love my mommy and daddy." I pulled my sleeve over my hand and unscrewed the lightbulb, walked out of the room and closed the door. Soon enough I heard a frantic "click, click, click, click," from his room. I just smiled, proud of the fact that I could outwit a 2-year-old.
Finally, our sweet, adorable Gracie made her first (inadvertently) racist remark. Her best pal at preschool is a lovely Chinese-American girl named Jill.* I should preface the rest of this story by saying that we live in a town of only a few thousand people, so, other than Mulan, Jill was the only Asian person Grace had ever seen...until last Saturday.
She was at a birthday party that was attended by a different Chinese-American girl. Grace ran up to her and said, "Are you Jill?"
"No," the girl said.
"But is your NAME Jill?" Grace insisted.
"NO," the girl answered, as if she were already sick of being confused for every other 4-year-old Asian American in Massachusetts.
So that's what's been going on here at Chez Daddy Daze. No cavities, no lightbulbs, and no, all Asians do not look the same.
How about you?
*not her real name.