On the way home from the grocery store yesterday morning, as we were at a traffic light, Baby A said from the backseat, “Ooooh, Mommy! I see a beee-you-tiful steering wheel!” You do? “Yes!!! It’s pink and fluffy!!!”
Later in the morning, we went for a short walk. We passed a house a few blocks over that has a short fence around their backyard. You can see bits and pieces here and there, and it’s not what I would call “manicured”. There are quite a few trees and some tall grasses, and a number of garden statues (I guess you’d call them) in decoration.
“Ooooh, Mommy! That looks like a beee-you-tiful forest!” Baby A remarked.
I didn’t see the steering wheel Baby A was talking about, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have gasped at its beauty. And when we walk past this particular house in our neighborhood, I actually wince a bit, thinking there are surely critters in those grasses…things I don’t want to think about in our suburban neighborhood.
Still, I work hard to remind myself not to share my jaded judgment with the girls. I understand how pink and fluffy equates with something beautiful to a three-year old’s mind...how a shady, overgrown backyard looks luscious and inviting, the stuff of fairy tales.
It dawned on me that this is not unlike my protective stance of the rat species a couple of months ago. I want the girls to form their own opinions about the world, particularly when it comes to benign things like steering wheels and landscaping.
And it’s a pretty sweet reminder for me that it’s OK to like some books, just judging by the beauty of their covers.
…as long as the girls don’t insist on gifting me a pink fluffy steering wheel cover for Mother’s Day, that is.