Just now as I was helping Ingrid get ready for bed:
“H has polish on her fingernails.”
[H is a girl at Ingrid’s extra crunchy Waldorf-y wonderfully free-thinking day care, where all the women are strong and half the kids (including H) have two mamas.]
“Oh! That’s very grown up!”
“Mama, I want polish like H’s.
“H’s is purple.”
“Oh, wow! Who helped H put on her nail polish?”
“I want mine to be purple, too! On my fingers and my toes!”
“That sure sounds like fun. We’ll have to think about that.”
“I want to do it now.”
“Well, we don’t have any nail polish in our house right now. We’d have to get some from the store. I’ll have to think about that. It’s a very grown up thing to do, wearing nail polish. We’ll think about it.”
Good grief, am I ever unprepared. I don’t know if I’m for this or against it. Damn hippie lesbians.