I'm Just a Girl. 

I'm Just a Girl.

Gwen Stefani, isn't she the one who sings "I'm just a girl, that's all you let me be..."? That's how I feel right now! I am totally baffled by Connor's belief that while all other females over the age of 16 are women, I am a girl. Daddy is a man, Grandmom is a woman, Katie is a woman, I am a girl. Take the following conversation for example-- not the first, and probably not the last in this ongoing argument over my maturity (clearly noted in the fact that I am willing to argue the point with a four year old):
Connor: I'm so glad that you're my girl.
Mommy: I'm so glad that you're my boy! But, I'm still a girl? I'm your Mommy.
C: But you're a girl too.
M: Well, yes, sort of. But I told you, I'm a woman, or a lady.
C: [snort, laugh] No you're not; you're a girl!
M: What is Daddy?
C: A man.
M: What is Katie?
C: [rolls eyes] DUH, she has GLASSES! Woman.
M: I'm going to calmly ignore the fact that you know that I have glasses too. Grandmom? What about her? She's shorter than me; does that make her a girl?
C: Woman.
M: What about AJ's Mommy? She's the same age as me, and she's married and she's a Mommy, just like me.
C: She's a woman.
M: But she's just like me!
C: Except that you're a girl.
M: Aunt Denise?
C: She lives in Pennsylvania! She's a WOMAN!
M: When I lived in Pennsylvania, was *I* a woman?
C: No, we just lived there like forty-thirteen weeks ago! You were a girl, remember? [looks incredulous and a little worried that I'm so confused over this SIMPLE fact]

To add insult to, well, insult, he's always offering to buy me dolls and play sets. The sweet side of it is that he usually says he wants to buy them for me when he sees a little girl on tv playing with a toy, and comments indignantly, "You are way beautifuller than that girl; I'm going to get you that toy because you should have it too!" He never offers to buy Chris toy cars or action figures; he always wants to buy Chris manly stuff like new hats, power tools, and the occasional tie or shirt. I'll never understand this kid.

The other GIRL in the house, the ACTUAL one, is using all of her free time to develop her feminine wiles. She sings. She dances. She demands "pretties," her name for curly hair ribbons. She performs for anyone who will applaud. By all accounts, she is me, 24 years ago. I am seriously amazed that Mammam wasn't committed to an insane asylum before I turned two. I have to admit though, much as I disdain any resemblance of my personality in Riley Kate (let's face it. Uncle Bobby, Uncle Paul, Pap and Mam can claim I was the world's most perfect little girl all they want; I've seen the videos- I was obnoxious), I am quite smitten with alot of the general girly qualities she has. I'm even pretty amused (though I NEVER show it) with the sass that seems to come so naturally (apparently, also genetic)-- "Riley Kate!" "[sigh, stomp] WHAT?" "Can you give Connor a turn in the rocking chair?" "It's mine!" In writing, it sounds pretty brazen, but when you see it come out of such a tiny little munchkin (though I swear, we do attempt to squelch it), it is, um... IT'S REALLY FUNNY! Are my kids headed for a lifetime of crime because I secretly think their unacceptable behaviors are hilarious? I hope not.

Ror continues to police the household for "bad choice" makers and rule infringements. He refers to Riley Katie now as Lolly--we're not sure why-- so we hear alot of "Lolly, you need to make a better choice! Lolly, get down! Lolly, that's usGUSting! Mommy, Lolly needs thinking time! Lolly needs a nap! Lolly, that's MINE and that's a bad choice! Lolly, you're not spiderman; that's a bad choice!" Given that he is the most frequent ACTUAL rule-breaker and rarely hears more than a calm, "Let's make a better choice," I'm a little concerned over where all the "BAD" choice lingo came from. In any case, next week all Disney tourists can rest easily, knowing that Ror will be patrolling the streets of the happiest place on earth, weeding out rule-breakers, bad choice makers and any cartoon characters participating in any funny business.

Oh, I nearly forgot to relay the story of Chris's unilateral decision to single-handedly solve the social security crunch by creating more future contributors to the economy. He's nothing if not patriotic. Two days ago he came up the stairs, hugging and kissing each of the kids as he entered the living room, saying, "Daddy loves you! You are great kids!" Not too unusual, but the effusiveness and the look in his eye was a little... maniacal. He sat down calmly and said, "Um, you know that movie, 'Cheaper By the Dozen'?"
"Yes, Chris, I support your decision to leave me if Bonnie Hunt ever propositions you. We've been through this."
"No, no no... it's not that; I'm over that. But anyway, don't you love that movie? I mean, look at our kids. They're so great. Wouldn't twelve be AWESOME?"
[This portion of the conversation, my response, is edited because I know some friends have children who can read, and I don't want to be responsible for corrupting young minds.]
I explained to Chris that while yes, for many people, twelve would be 'awesome', for a woman whose pubic bone ruptures with each pregnancy and oh yeah, has CROHN'S DISEASE, twelve MIGHT be just a TAD out of the realm of awesomeness for US.
So while disappointed that we'll probably never have enough kids to fill a 15 passenger van, he's contenting himself with our old standby motto: Never say DONE. (Our motto USED to be, "We'll stop when we get an ugly one," but then we worried that whichever kid ended up being last would eventually hear that this had been our motto and always cast suspicious glances in the mirror.)