Role Reversal

I spend an unreasonable amount of time in malls. There's no explanation that will make it make sense. It's a fact that I should probably be ashamed of, but who has time for that? I'm too busy being ashamed of the fact that I still have Valentines decorations in my living room.

Mila, of course, also spends an unreasonable amount of time in malls. It's sort of a package deal since she hasn't figured out how to cook her own dinner or wipe her own butt just yet. Since she's a tiny mall rat, she has lots of opportunities to notice when something new appears.

You know, like a giant rabbit sitting in a chair surrounded by flowers.

I think it's safe to say that Mila has not yet found her common sense or developed a healthy sense of fear, so the first time she saw the Easter Bunny hanging out at the mall, she was mesmerized. She demanded that she get to move closer and she smiled and waved and generally acted a fool because EASTER BUNNY! HE'S AWESOME!

That situation played out several times. We would be in a mall, Mila would be all LOOOOK! BUNNY! and we'd stand there and restrain her because she was all in on tackling that stupid rabbit. There was even a time when Mila kept saying she wanted to hug the Easter Bunny and it was FANTASTIC because that other kid of mine is still scared of him. While Mila was trying to run and hug the creature that leaves plastic eggs all over the place, Alexis was mortified and kept yelling, "HE'S EVIL."

When I say "yelling," I mean the rabbit heard her. He didn't look amused.

That's the longish explanation for why I had to bribe the heck out of the Big Kid in order to get this photo.

I had to con Alexis into sitting next to the Easter Bunny because Mila can't be left to her own devices for even a minute lately. I think she's packing a lighter and tiny bombs in her pockets because HOLY DESTRUCTIVE TODDLER. Alexis had to be there to control the Mila. Mila wanted to be there.

OR DID SHE?

After weeks and weeks of begging to hug the Easter Bunny, Mila just plain chickened out when it was time to do the thing. She turned into a noodly toddler and threw a fit until I stuck her in Alexis' lap and rolled my eyes at her cute little face.

You can tell from the photo that nobody was happy to be sitting with the bunny. Normally I don't push those issues, but YOU GUYS I SWEAR MILA ASKED 13524230985 TIMES. GAWD. It's like she's a toddler or something what with all of the "I want that" followed by "PSYCH! I DON'T WANT THAT!"

Once Mila was safely seated in Alexis' lap, she turned her attention to the circus act that was going on behind the camera. So many adults were trying to make her smile. So many. They were making fools of themselves, but only because they didn't know how well trained that kid is. She does not make eye contact with the camera. There is nothing anyone can do to make her look.

But, hey, I'm super glad the adults tried. I'm super glad because I'm relatively certain that's what stopped them from seeing what happened.

Miss Mila, she of much enthusiasm for things in fursuits, was not having it with that particular bunny. She was over the moment before it started, so she sort of stared into space while waiting for any of the adults to come up with a solution that worked for her. Except, when she finally decided that particular bunny was stupid, she balled her little hand up and PUNCHED HIM.

Mila punched the Easter Bunny.

I think the norm might be that the big sister looks out for the little sister, but Mila and Alexis are not the norm. I think it's safe to say that the little sister does all of the battling that needs to be done around here.

Shut Up. Listen.

I've been called out for using racist words twice. The first time was decades ago and I handled it terribly. HORRIBLY. Fortunately, though, I was called out by someone who had the patience to deal with my stupid and who thought I was worth his time. He waited for me to be done rambling stupid words and then gave me the best advice ever. "Shut up and just listen."

Thanks, Dwight. I very much so appreciate that you taught me that little trick.

The second time I was called out, I remembered that advice, thereby saving myself from digging myself into an even bigger hole.

I suppose at this point there are a few people who are shaking their heads as they climb atop their pedestal and declare themselves better than me because they've never said anything racist. Well, remember Dwight's words? They apply here. They apply here because EVERYONE has said racist things; the issue is whether you had the self-awareness to catch yourself or if there was somebody who heard you and thought you were worth saving from yourself.

Harsh, I know, but nobody calls you out for racism if they think it's a waste of their time. That's why I haven't called out that guy I went to high school with -- his ignorance runs so deep that it's obvious he's beyond hope.

But, man, when people tell you, it's a gift. It's an incredible gift that allows you a golden opportunity to become a better person and sets you up to break the cycle. You just have to remember what Dwight said. Shut up. Listen.

The reason I've been thinking about that day Dwight taught me a thing or two about myself is that whole Wendy Bell thing. If you've managed to avoid seeing the Facebook post that was her digging herself a very deep hole, this is a good link to review. It does a most excellent job of going through what she said and why what she said was racist.

That's not up for debate, by the way. It. Was. Racist. If you don't see that it was racist, I refer you back to Dwight's advice. You have spent too much time talking and not enough time listening if you don't see it. And when I say "listening," I mean listening to hear, not listening to plan your reply. You have to listen without making the conversation about yourself and you have to listen until you understand. You will if you pay attention. Find that Black friend that you bring up every time a conversation comes up about race (because obviously you can't be racist if you have a Black friend ::eyeroll:: ) and listen. Maybe start by asking the person to tell you some stories about the racism that they have faced. They will have stories. Don't interject yourself into those stores. Just. Listen.

And that happens to be my advice to Wendy Bell. While there are lots of reasons for me to think she has deemed herself superior to me, I think maybe this time I have the advantage because I had Dwight. I also have the advantage of having paid attention to what the word "racist" means. It's not about men in white hoods setting things on fire and throwing around hate speech. It's much more subtle.

Racism is the belief that a particular race is superior or inferior to another, that a person's social and moral traits are predetermined by his or her inborn biological characteristics.

Wendy Bell did a bang-up job of demonstrating what that whole "traits are predetermined by his or her inborn biological characteristics" thing looks like with her post. I mean, if there was a class that taught students how to write privileged white garbage, we now know for certain who should teach the class.

So, Wendy, own the fact that you wrote racist words. Stop throwing around apologies that say things like "I'm sorry you read it that way" because that is a whole other class you could teach and it would be called Passive Aggressive Crap 101. Then stop with the "I'm just being real" because I swear we covered that a few days ago here when we said "telling it like it is" is code for "I'm a jerk and I won't apologize for it."

Shut up.

Listen.

Make Dwight proud.

And for the love of donuts, don't go making sure you're photographed with a Black friend or volunteering at a soup kitchen or some crap because those tricks are all played out. The world has taught you that it's okay to be condescending towards certain Black people as long as you're mostly subtle about it, but you've been given an opportunity to see your stupid. Own it. Stop the cycle.

Together. We've got to stop the cycle together.

She's So Mean

"Is that your car with the 'Baby on Board' sign on it?" he asked.

"Ummmm...no," I replied.

"Oh, good," he continued. "I would have had to make fun of you if it was."

"If I were to have something on that on my car, it would be more of a warning for others to keep their distance for their own safety," I said.

"Sure. You're always saying things like that, but she's probably a really sweet baby," he retorted.

"If ever there was a baby who should come with a cautionary statement, it's Mila," I said.

"I bet she's sweet," he argued.

***************************************************************

I've had conversations like that one countless times. I say that Mila is mean and people don't believe me.

You guys.

SHE IS MEAN.

Last night, Miss Mila kept sticking crayons in her mouth like they were cigarettes. I kept telling her to take them out of her mouth. With a smirk, she would, but then she would throw them across the room. When I told her to pick them up, she would smirk again and then start the cycle all over again. All the while, I was giving her the Mom Glare.

My Mom Glare is top notch, I'll have you know. It may not work on Mila, but it's so effective that when Alexis walked into the room part way through the crayon shenanigans, she burst into tears because she saw the Mom Glare and thought she was the one who was in trouble.

Mila doesn't care.

Because she's mean.

Before you try to argue with me that those sweet little toes couldn't possibly belong to a mean child, I think you should know that when I walked into daycare today, Mila was beating another kid over the head with a toy.

Really.

She. Is. Mean.