When a Five Year Old Harumphs.

The In-Laws were over for dinner last night. I realize that in some households those nine words are akin to the raising of the trumpets in advance of an attack by a Mongolian Horde, but I am a lucky guy. When my In-Laws visit they bring wine and good company. The Wife's grandmother is visiting from Tulsa, the land of  eternal pot holes (if you are wondering what I mean, see my letter to the Oklahoma Department of Transportation) and we grilled some steaks, drank some wine, and played copious amounts of Rock Band.

The Peanut, who is five and a half, is not a fan of steak. When I ask her why, her reply is simple and leaves little room for argument. She shrugs her tiny shoulders, cocks her head to the side, makes full eye contact and says, "Daddy, steak just doesn't agree with me." How do I argue with that?

Our normal parental policy is what we have for dinner IS what we are having for dinner. But, once a week, The Peanut is allowed to use a "Get-Out-Of-A-Dinner-That-Won't-Agree-With-Me" card. Basically we will let her choose her dinner, within reason, when she uses the privilege. The other six nights she eats what we eat or else breakfast will be her next meal. She chose to play her card last night and instead of delicious steak she opted for macaroni and cheese with slices of tomato and green beans.

The adults were gathered around the island in the kitchen, stuffing our faces with steak and washing it down with wine so The Peanut took her plate into the other room to eat far from the sounds of grown up conversation. She returned ten minutes later, her bottom lip pushed out in the ages old expression of sorrow and emotional distress. She walked over to me and waited expectantly.

I set my wine glass down and gave her my full attention. She didn't seem to be hurt or bleeding. I saw no evidence of fire or smoke inhalation, but she was clearly unhappy about something. I look at her plate and noticed that most of the mac and cheese was still there but she had eaten all the tomato slices and the green beans.

"Nice job kiddo," I told her. "Now just finish the macaroni and you are done."

She harumphed.

My five year old daughter actually harumphed me.

"Daddy, that's NOT why I came out here," the frustration not even a little hidden in her voice.

"OK. If not that, then what's up?"

She raised her Disney Princess plate up under my nose. "What do you see here that you didn't see before?"

I was a bit taken aback by the question while The Wife and her parents erupted into weakly suppressed giggles. I looked into The Peanut's eyes and their somber cast told me she was not kidding...she wanted me to study her dinner plate. So I did and lo and behold, I realized the macaroni noodles were covered in dog hair and other tiny bits of carpet dandruff.

"You dropped this on the floor, didn't you?" I asked.

She spoke to me as if I were a caveman trying to understand the great mystery of the internal combustion engine. "Yes Daddy, can't you tell? It's all hairy and gross now."

I shrugged. "So...what do you want me to do about it?"

"Well, I have to clean the rug. Can you get me some more while I do it?"

I smiled. "Of course sweetheart. You betcha."

She smiled at me, got a rag from the cabinet, and walked off to clean her mess. We have been teaching her to solve her own problems since she was old enough to start walking and talking. As her parents, she knows we are there as her consultants, but she is the one who has to solve the problem. It brings me great joy to watch her take care of things like this all on her own. The hope is that when she gets older, and the problems become more serious and more complex, that she will be able to fall back on a lifetime of problem solving strategies and have the confidence in her abilities to handle whatever life, or her own choices, throws at her.

Oh and one other thing. If your In-Laws ever come over to play Rock Band and your Mother-In-Law is on the microphone and the song Fat Bottom Girls by Queen comes up...don't go through with it.

Trust me...just...don't...