Black Sheep
Sometimes I panic that I'm forgetting something important in Crabtot's childhood, something small that will one day seem big.
Like when I realized we hadn't gotten around to Winnie the Pooh. As in, no Winnie on Crabtot's bookshelf. And suddenly I worried about that. And I worried I might forget that I was worried about Winnie, and then I'd forget Winnie for yet another year and by the time Crabtot was 4 or 5 and I finally remembered again, she wouldn't dig Winnie. And that would be an awful shame. Not to mention that when she's 16, someone will say something about Piglet, and she'll say, "Who?" And she'll be mocked and pitied for her oddness, as though she were a Mennonite...And then Winnie will represent all the other things I did wrong or forgot to do at all, and she'll resent me. With good reason. I mean, what mother forgets Winnie the Pooh?
These moments occur in random places. You can be enjoying a piece of sushi when you think, Fingerpainting! I think we've missed the finger-painting window! Too bloody late.
Maybe you can relate. Or maybe you think I'm neurotic, hypermomming my way through childrearing like so many of our generation. But you don't realize the full scope of my situation. Because Crabhusband can't help me here. Last week we were having a family hike, and Tot and I were singing "Baa Baa Black Sheep," and I said, "Have you any wool?" and then gave the answer line over to Crabhusband.
Silence.
Turns out, Daddy does not know the words to "Baa Baa Black Sheep." "I've of heard of it," he says. "I think." But he doesn't know the ditty. So I mocked and pitied him for his oddness, as though he were a Mennonite.
For him, it's too bloody late. But not for my daughter! She will not be held back by glaring parental oversight. I'm on top of things. Yes, sir, indeedy. Three bags full.
I love nursery rhymes because they sound so innocent but have all these nasty hidden meanings. Did you know that baa baa black sheep refers to the king's tax on wool? One-third to the local lord, one-third to the church, the rest for the farmer (aka the little boy). Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater was about a husband making his cheating wife wear a chastity belt. London Bridge is falling down is about the Black Plague and Mary Had a Little Lamb is about teenage pregnancy. I'll bet if crabhub knew this, he'd take more of an interest instead of pretending to forget the words all the time.
Pooh is not allowed in our home. I need to blog about why, but basically it's because all the characters have conditions we don't like in PEOPLE.