Lessons about Reality from the World of Make Believe

My two year old, Laura, is very into make believe.  It all started just before Christmas time last winter.  She quickly identified the main character of any story as herself, and assigned my husband and I supporting roles.  When Ellie was born earlier this summer, Laura began incorporating her into most of these play games by making her a pet.  Poor little puppy!

So these days, Laura is Karen from Frosty the Snowman, I am Frosty, and my husband, Ted,  plays Santa.  She is Annie from Little Einstiens, I’m Leo (after all I drive our rocket & wear glasses) and my husband is Quincy.  Random friends and grandparents rotate in and out as June, the fourth member of the gang. She is Bob the Tomato and I am the taller, sillier Larry.  Somehow Ted ended up as Mr. Lunt, the squinty eyed gourd with a Mexican accent.   She is Cinderella, I am Sleeping Beauty, and Ted is our (shared) prince. She is Spot, I am Sally, and Ted is Spot’s Daddy.  There is no scenario she cannot adapt.

When she was younger, she would slip in and out of character.  But now, in her mature almost three land of imagination, she announces with pomp & circumstance when she is donning a new role.  Recently, when she is finished playing, and wants to return to just being herself, she says so by telling us: “Now I just want to be my Momma’s child.”

I was struck today, when she said this to my mother-in-law, that she is summing up her identity in this statement.  She sees herself first and foremost as belonging to me, being my child. She knows who I am, and she finds her own identity in relationship to that understanding.  What a beautiful picture.  It’s so easy to see myself as wife, mother, teacher, artist, diaper changer. But my true identity lies in knowing the One who loves me, the One I’m at home with, and knowing I am His.  Sigh.

Globes

The globe that sits on the console table in our dining room may be my favorite garage sale find of all time.  It’s earth tone pallet blends with so many of the items in our home, while subtly tying in elements we’ve collected from our journeys around the world, along with the many souvenirs our globe-trotting friends have added to the collection! I love pulling it down to show my daughter the route a loved one is flying across the country (or world) or showing her where different wares and goods stem from.   A beautiful piece, an educational tool, and all for under $5.00!  If you’re not so lucky as to find your global treasure at a tag sale, here are some nice runners up:

{a}Pottery Barn : One of my first go-to’s for stylish replica’s, these 5 and 7 inch globes are subdued color scheme could go anywhere. $29.00-$39.00 USD

{b} Every Eskimo : This tin coin collecting globe is tiny, but packs a powerful style punch!  $18.00 USD

{c} Hindsvik Vintage : Just the description on this amazing vintage wares Etsy shop brought me right back to fourth grade: “This Rand McNally Old school Globe features Textured Mountains, ranges, types of land and vegetation” I think this is my fav. $33.00 USD

{d} Target : Classy and full of old world charm, I love the contrast of the dark wood base. $24.99 USD

public restroom glory

I didn’t plan on being an early potty-trainer. I’m not sure I can even take credit for the feat.  Laura basically potty trained herself last August, a few months shy of her second birthday.  To be fair, my sister would clarify that Laura is not actually potty trained, but rather I am potty trained, as she is not tall enough to climb onto the seat herself, and needs assistance in the “paper wiper” department, as she calls it.

For better or for worse, though, we’ve been diaper free (although, I regret to inform you, not accident free) for almost a year now. Aside from the chorus of praise from a generation whose children were all perfectly potty trained by eighteen months (“and what’s wrong with mothers these days anyway?”), there have been several perks to kissing diapers goodbye: so long, diaper bag slouch; adios, $40 giant box of Huggies every month; ciao, landfill guilt; see ya, scrapping poop off the cloth diapers I invested in to assuage the wallet crunch and landfill guilt…  The list goes on.  But, honestly, there is one experience that has tempted me to put my perfectly potty trained big girl back into pampers.  I have become convinced that no perk can outweigh the trauma of public restrooms with a toddler.

The worst of it came during a trip to the mall.  I secretly wonder if my husband actually suggested this tactic to Laura, as it has so deeply affected my psyche that I rarely set foot in the den of materialism, so scarred am I by the thought of using a public restroom with her.  We were there, the two of us, in the tiny stall (the more spacious handicapped stall having been examined and deemed too dirty).  Everything was fine and dandy.  We lined the seat, she held onto me, and not the seat, as I squatted down in front of her, face nearer to the toilet than anyone should have to suffer.  We even avoided the automatic flush, which sometimes causes a lightning speed lift and pivot of the urinating toddler to avoid the plagued germ-filled back-splash attacking her innocent bottom and my already suffering face.

I thought we were in the clear when I pulled her pants up and instructed her to wait while Mommy went potty.  All I had to do now was take care of my business while constantly engaging her in conversation to distract her from all the interesting little doors and mailboxes and scum to see and touch in a public restroom.  “Laura, keep your hands down, don’t touch anything!” my mother’s voice chided from my mouth.  And she did keep her hands down. I looked away for a second, as is sometimes required in the business I was simultaneously attending too, and lifted my eyes just in time to see her lick the tiled wall.  I repeat: just in time to see her lick the tiled wall.

All of a sudden, touching the door handle, even the God-forbidden sticking of the hand into the sanitary napkin box, didn’t seem so awful.  At least I could sanitize her hands.  The best part was that she looked up at me, beaming with pride, as if she had figured out a riddle:  “See, Mom, I accomplished my mission and didn’t touch the icky bathroom with my hands!” And that, she had.