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When Laylee Is Queen

You know life is interesting when you realize you forgot to mention to your husband that your 4-year-old daughter made her haircutting debut two days ago. Hey Dan! (waving wildly) Laylee's got a chunk missing. If you spent less time going to work and more time sculpting piggy tails, you might know that already.

She didn't really argue when I forbade her from using the scissors on herself until she was "as big as a mommy." What she took exception to was the suggestion that she also refrain from scalping her friends and colleagues at preschool and around the neighborhood.

"Here's the deal," she bargained. "I'll just do it on them now and on myself when I'm big like a mommy." I stopped myself from telling her that if she went around collecting hair samples from all the neighborhood kids, she may not live to grow big like a mommy.

And I really want her to have the chance. I would LOVE to see Laylee as a mommy. I've had the opportunity to watch her practice her mothering on Magoo and other stuffed animals around the house and here's what I think things will be like chez Mama Laylee:

Laylee's children will know that they are loved. She will hold them and sing to them in a tone only very small and sweet rodents can hear. Sometimes she will take them for walks by tying their feet together with sewing elastic and dragging and bouncing them along the sidewalk.

Practicing on Magoo

Laylee's children will eat dino nuggets, peanut butter, and peaches for every meal. Honey and ketchup will be available on tap. All their drinks will be chocolate in nature and come in impossible-to-clean cups with decapitated plastic princess heads on the lids.

They will be fluent in English, fake Spanish, and the language of sweet small rodents.

They will never be at a loss for what to say because she will enforce upon them a script. Frequently, she comes to me or Dan and says, "Let's have a talk. First you say something. Now I'll say something. Then let's each say something we really really like. Now you say ___." Sometimes I'll say the wrong thing and she'll say, "Hold on. I want to do a monologue for a little while." Her kids will LOVE that.

Time for a monologue

Regardless of gender, Laylee's children will wear excessive amounts of lipstick, and it will come in delicious pink flavors so they can lick it off and reapply frequently.

They will be encouraged to "capture" rocks, slugs, and maggoty decaying bird corpses but discouraged from touching dirty disgusting things like finger paint.

Laylee's children will be covered from head to toe in Band-Aids. They will cock their head to the side in every picture because "that is how people are supposed to look in pictures."

Their house will be pink. Their dancing will be constant. Their pets will be copious enough to fill an ark. They will laugh. They will always say please. They will adore their mother.


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