28. Bedtime stories
My baby girl, not yet 3, grabs hold of what bears the closest resemblance to a toy gun and says, looking straight into my eyes:
'I'm gonna kill you.'
I am at the bottom of the stairs and she is at the top, looking down at me. She's lately developed that American accent that her father hates and it is making the scene even spookier.
'I beg your pardon, what did you just say?' is all I can manage, thinking I must have heard wrong.
It is bedtime and her brother is next to me.
'What did she just say?' I ask him, thinking it is one of their 'code languages' and that is why it does not make sense to me.
'She said she is going to kill you.' He says in a clear loud voice, stressing each syllable. He seems a little shocked at his baby sister's words. She is still standing there looking down at us. Her look says I mean business.
A quick mental flick through my parenting guide confirms that there is no chapter that deals with words like those coming from a toddler's mouth.
Her brother looks at me: he thinks I think he taught her that. I stare back at him. My look says: it cannot be from the TV we do not have one. We do not even own a TV set. She is two years old! She does not go to school. The parents' computers are out of bounds. Kids never get to them. They do not have iPhones nor iPads. This is October 2008!
I know what the problem is. She told us at dinner. She is refusing to go to her bed because I am refusing to read to her first. It is her brother's turn but she thinks she has to be read first because the chapter in her book is really important.
...
Her brother and I are still standing there, truly like two idiots, not knowing how to handle this and are surprised when she turns her back to us and heads for her bedroom.
...
We are only up two or three steps and she reappears behind the banister: she has got Buzz Lightyear in one hand, the 'gun' in the other. She narrows her eyes and puts on that American accent on again:
'I'm gonna kill you! ... This is Buzz. Buzz can fly and he can shoot you!'
I am thinking fast: call husband, call an ambulance, call a shrink, pretend this is not happening and go down stairs and fix myself a G&T. Give chocolate bars to my son. Wait for husband. Give her ice cream, anything will do. I say:
'Stop it! This is a toy and you know it. Put it back and go to your room.'
'This is Buzz! Buzz flies! Buzz is real! Buzz can shoot you!' And she chucks it down the stairs. It bounces clumsily and lands on the bottom step with a thud.
'I'm gonna kill you.'
I am at the bottom of the stairs and she is at the top, looking down at me. She's lately developed that American accent that her father hates and it is making the scene even spookier.
'I beg your pardon, what did you just say?' is all I can manage, thinking I must have heard wrong.
It is bedtime and her brother is next to me.
'What did she just say?' I ask him, thinking it is one of their 'code languages' and that is why it does not make sense to me.
'She said she is going to kill you.' He says in a clear loud voice, stressing each syllable. He seems a little shocked at his baby sister's words. She is still standing there looking down at us. Her look says I mean business.
A quick mental flick through my parenting guide confirms that there is no chapter that deals with words like those coming from a toddler's mouth.
Her brother looks at me: he thinks I think he taught her that. I stare back at him. My look says: it cannot be from the TV we do not have one. We do not even own a TV set. She is two years old! She does not go to school. The parents' computers are out of bounds. Kids never get to them. They do not have iPhones nor iPads. This is October 2008!
I know what the problem is. She told us at dinner. She is refusing to go to her bed because I am refusing to read to her first. It is her brother's turn but she thinks she has to be read first because the chapter in her book is really important.
...
Her brother and I are still standing there, truly like two idiots, not knowing how to handle this and are surprised when she turns her back to us and heads for her bedroom.
...
We are only up two or three steps and she reappears behind the banister: she has got Buzz Lightyear in one hand, the 'gun' in the other. She narrows her eyes and puts on that American accent on again:
'I'm gonna kill you! ... This is Buzz. Buzz can fly and he can shoot you!'
I am thinking fast: call husband, call an ambulance, call a shrink, pretend this is not happening and go down stairs and fix myself a G&T. Give chocolate bars to my son. Wait for husband. Give her ice cream, anything will do. I say:
'Stop it! This is a toy and you know it. Put it back and go to your room.'
'This is Buzz! Buzz flies! Buzz is real! Buzz can shoot you!' And she chucks it down the stairs. It bounces clumsily and lands on the bottom step with a thud.
Buzz won’t fly no more.
Husband chooses that moment to walk in the door. A second earlier and Buzz would have landed on his head with a thud! So I relax a little at this near miss.
'Go to your room!' he tells her in his firm, no arguing tone which worked well enough with the others. His soft spot, however, comes into action too early: 'I'll read you a princess story.'
He thinks she'll give in a little. It has the opposite effect.
'I DON"T LIKE PRINCESSES! THEY CRY ALL THE TIME AND THEY CAN"T RUN FAST!'
My husband sighs, he suddenly looks tired, he picks up Buzz, sends our son to bed and heads to the kitchen.
'Let's have a drink.'
So we do the bad parenting bit and have a drink and a tête-à-tête dinner and avoid talking about the kids.
Some time later, we find our little baby girl asleep on the rug on the top landing. 'Gun' in hand, ready to shoot.
Husband chooses that moment to walk in the door. A second earlier and Buzz would have landed on his head with a thud! So I relax a little at this near miss.
'Go to your room!' he tells her in his firm, no arguing tone which worked well enough with the others. His soft spot, however, comes into action too early: 'I'll read you a princess story.'
He thinks she'll give in a little. It has the opposite effect.
'I DON"T LIKE PRINCESSES! THEY CRY ALL THE TIME AND THEY CAN"T RUN FAST!'
My husband sighs, he suddenly looks tired, he picks up Buzz, sends our son to bed and heads to the kitchen.
'Let's have a drink.'
So we do the bad parenting bit and have a drink and a tête-à-tête dinner and avoid talking about the kids.
Some time later, we find our little baby girl asleep on the rug on the top landing. 'Gun' in hand, ready to shoot.
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