Tuesday – I am Mommy, hear me Roar
Oct. 30th, 2007 12:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I was thinking about two facts: I am pretty, and I am a lion. I know these things are true because my 3 year old tells me they are, and he is a very, very honest person.
I think it's kind of sweet that he thinks I'm pretty. Of course, toddlers are not renowned for their sense of aesthetics. This declaration of my beauty is the boy who thought that a ratty pair of Elmo sandals were high fashion and could be worn with everything for 6 months straight (including his pajamas). I realize my loveliness is subject to the filter of the bias of him who beholds me, his mother, as the embodiment of womanly spender, and that I probably should not pursue a career as a supermodel based on his assessment. But a compliment is a compliment, and I get to bask in it if I want to. As for the part about me being a lion, though -- that took me completely off guard. No one, not even the boy's father (who also thinks I am pretty) has ever pointed out any leonine qualities in me before.
"Mommy, you're pretty," my son will tell me, pushing my hair out of my face and smiling at me sweetly. Then he will pick up a strand of my gold-colored hair and hold it out to observe. I guess it looks like a mane to him, because his next comment is always, "You're a lion."
"I'm a lion?" I ask.
"Yes, you're a lion." He nods earnestly when he tells me this, as if it is very important that I realize I am a lion and accept it. To this end, I growl and bite at his belly, which tickles him and makes him laugh. As far as lions go, I'm not really all that vicious, at least not when it comes to things like devouring small children.
At first I wondered if he might be talking about astrology, since I'm a Leo on the cusp of Cancer. Then again, I doubt this is the case since he has never looked at his Pieces father and declared, "Daddy, you're a fish."
So I must acknowledge my status as a lion, based on the wisdom of my son. I am probably an embarrassment to all the other lions prowling the earth, since I have never accused of having any sort of cat-like grace. In fact, one of my defining characterizes has always been my klutziness. Then again, having a little lion in me may explain the odd sort of grace that graces my lack of grace. When I drop something fragile, I have a way of going into a spastic dance where I catch the object and juggling it between my hands which ends when I throw my body on the ground so it will provide a soft surface for the object to land on. More likely than not, the vace is fine but I'm a little the worse for wear. My husband tells me that watching me is like watching slapstick comedy performed by a master. My pratfalls may not be deliberately choreographed, but I've been told that they are every bit as entertaining as those that are.
Having learned that I am a lion has made me feel a little more confident. It's hard not to strut a little knowing that you are the queen of the beasts. Even now, with my gold mane braided into a knot on the back of my head and not looking very lion-like, I am typing with a little extra swagger. Don't mess with me; I may come across the room and rip you open. Provided, that is, that I don't trip over my own feet before I reach you.
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I think it's kind of sweet that he thinks I'm pretty. Of course, toddlers are not renowned for their sense of aesthetics. This declaration of my beauty is the boy who thought that a ratty pair of Elmo sandals were high fashion and could be worn with everything for 6 months straight (including his pajamas). I realize my loveliness is subject to the filter of the bias of him who beholds me, his mother, as the embodiment of womanly spender, and that I probably should not pursue a career as a supermodel based on his assessment. But a compliment is a compliment, and I get to bask in it if I want to. As for the part about me being a lion, though -- that took me completely off guard. No one, not even the boy's father (who also thinks I am pretty) has ever pointed out any leonine qualities in me before.
"Mommy, you're pretty," my son will tell me, pushing my hair out of my face and smiling at me sweetly. Then he will pick up a strand of my gold-colored hair and hold it out to observe. I guess it looks like a mane to him, because his next comment is always, "You're a lion."
"I'm a lion?" I ask.
"Yes, you're a lion." He nods earnestly when he tells me this, as if it is very important that I realize I am a lion and accept it. To this end, I growl and bite at his belly, which tickles him and makes him laugh. As far as lions go, I'm not really all that vicious, at least not when it comes to things like devouring small children.
At first I wondered if he might be talking about astrology, since I'm a Leo on the cusp of Cancer. Then again, I doubt this is the case since he has never looked at his Pieces father and declared, "Daddy, you're a fish."
So I must acknowledge my status as a lion, based on the wisdom of my son. I am probably an embarrassment to all the other lions prowling the earth, since I have never accused of having any sort of cat-like grace. In fact, one of my defining characterizes has always been my klutziness. Then again, having a little lion in me may explain the odd sort of grace that graces my lack of grace. When I drop something fragile, I have a way of going into a spastic dance where I catch the object and juggling it between my hands which ends when I throw my body on the ground so it will provide a soft surface for the object to land on. More likely than not, the vace is fine but I'm a little the worse for wear. My husband tells me that watching me is like watching slapstick comedy performed by a master. My pratfalls may not be deliberately choreographed, but I've been told that they are every bit as entertaining as those that are.
Having learned that I am a lion has made me feel a little more confident. It's hard not to strut a little knowing that you are the queen of the beasts. Even now, with my gold mane braided into a knot on the back of my head and not looking very lion-like, I am typing with a little extra swagger. Don't mess with me; I may come across the room and rip you open. Provided, that is, that I don't trip over my own feet before I reach you.
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no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 06:50 pm (UTC)You gotta watch those Cancer-Leos, though...they have mysterious motives.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 07:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 07:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 09:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 08:08 pm (UTC)Enjoy the compliments where you can get them, I say!!
no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 09:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 01:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 05:54 pm (UTC)Kids are cute. Is it the golden hair that makes him think you're a lion?
no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 06:08 pm (UTC)In Korea, you are 34. They count the time you spend in the womb, and you're considered 1 year old already on the day you are born. At least that's what my 12 year old niece (who is half Korean) tells me. I won't tell Greg, though.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 06:18 pm (UTC)Re: cat-like grace...
Date: 2007-11-03 04:21 am (UTC)Now, the next time anyone mentions cat-like anything, it will. ^_^