Another Lesson O'Learned

The Easter Bunny.

Santa Claus.

Leprechauns.

Please tell me y'all have heard of all three. I'm a little worried because this morning I learned something that completely blows my mind--not everybody knows about "the pinch thing."

How is that possible? It doesn't seem to be a regional thing, an age thing, or even a heritage thing. It's just that some people know to wear green on St. Patrick's Day, and some don't. Some know why it's done, and some don't.

People who are oblivious, you HAVE to wear green on St. Patrick's Day. It's true! If you don't, then the leprechauns can see you and they will pinch you. If the leprechauns don't do it, there's probably some dirty old man somewhere who will, and he will have a free pass on that one glorious day of the year. It's in the Weird Rules Associated with Random Holidays manual. Truly.

Proof. (Skip to the last paragraph.)

Consider this your PSA of the month.

Next you're going to tell me that y'all didn't know that a deranged bunny wearing a plaid polyester vest is supposed to hide eggs all over the place for Easter. (By the way, if you think about it, the whole Easter Bunny thing makes considerably less sense than getting pinched if you don't wear green on St. Patrick's Day.)

Lesson O'Learned.

"I don't like St. Patrick's Day," Alexis said. We were walking through the Gap Outlet in search of some new jeans for she who suddenly decided to not fit into any of her clothes.

"Why not?" I asked as I held up a green t-shirt. "You get to wear fun green clothes like this for St. Patrick's Day."

"I don't want to wear green," she replied. "I don't like green."

"But you have to wear green on St. Patrick's Day," I warned the oblivious short person.

"Why?" she asked.

I spent the next several minutes explaining the whole pinch thing. As Alexis listened, her face scrunched up in disapproval. She processed my words for a moment, and then began to cry. "I don't like St. Patrick's Day," she wailed.

Every day since that fateful moment, Alexis has sprung out of bed with a worried look on her face. "Is it St. Patrick's Day today?" she asked each time. When I finally replied in the affirmative this morning, absolute panic washed over her face. "Where's my green shirt?" she wailed as she flew down the hall to her closet.

Never before has the child managed to get dressed so quickly. Usually getting her to put on her clothes in the morning is a Herculean effort, requiring reminder after reminder and nudge after nudge. In a matter of moments, she proudly came strutting back into the bathroom where I stood blow-drying my hair.

"Look! I'm ready for St. Patrick's Day!" she declared with a proud grin on her face. As I complimented her Hungry Hungry Caterpillar shirt, she paused, a serious expression falling over her eyes. "Momma," she said, "You're not wearing green."

"You're right," I replied. "I'm not."

In a flash, a mischievous grin overtook her face as she reached out and stabbed me with her pointy, chubby little fingers. I suppose it may have been a pinch, but it seemed a lot more like getting poked with a spork. Also? IT HURT.

Remind me to wear green next year for St. Patrick's Day. It's for my own safety.

It's 2010 and We Still Can't Teleport Places. Interesting.

All of our best conversations happen in the car. I hear about all of the daycare gossip. I hear about Alexis' plans for the future. Mostly, though, I hear all about how I'm doing it wrong.

"I don't think we should have rice for dinner."

"It's not a bath night."

"I don't want to clean up my dollhouse stuff."

Yesterday, Alexis spent the entire ride home telling me about how she thinks we need to buy a "TV car." At first I didn't quite know what she was talking about, but when she pointed to the car ceiling and said we should have a TV there, I figured it out. She wants to be one of the cool kids that watches TV everywhere they go because they have a TV that drops from the ceiling of the vehicle.

It ain't happening.

We do have a portable DVD player for her, but it's strictly reserved for long trips. Those are the rules that we are comfortable enforcing, so it sits unused in a closet most of the time.

Alexis knows those are the rules, so she decided to try to bring her negotiation skills to the conversation.

"We need a TV car so Daddy can watch the news when he drives," she told me. I thought it was interesting that she started out with trying to please he who was not there, but it was downright funny that she picked "news" over the never-ending stream of movies he really watches.

"I could watch Tom and Jerry!" she followed up. Apparently, there is some sort of bonus there that I'm not completely comprehending.

"You could watch a Mommy show!" Finally, she thought to kiss up to me.

"What's a 'Mommy show?'" I asked. I really had no idea.

Apparently, neither did Alexis. She couldn't think of a show that I would want to watch for several seconds. Then, she finally blurted out, "Dancing with the Stars!"

"Alexis, I don't like that show," I told her. I figured it was time she heard the truth.

"Yes, you do," she insisted.

I straightened her out, but only after several minutes of back-and-forth.

I might be doing it wrong, but I'd much rather go toe-to-toe with a 4-year old about the merits of having a TV in the car than have her turn into a zombie as she watches a TV in the car.