…Flipping You Off.

“Today at art camp we drew a dream book,” Franny said when I picked her up.

“What’s that?” I said.

“It’s where you write your dreams. Like what you want to be when you grow up.”

“What did you write?”

“I wrote that I want to be a vet, or a doctor, or an astronaut, or a farmer, or a taxi driver.” Franny thought for a minute. “Umm…Mom? Did you grow up to be anything?”

No. I’m just the person who drives you to summer camp.

I think it’s significant that Strudel has broken me to the point where this didn’t even make me cry. Also, I guess I’ve been doing a pretty good job hiding my real life from Franny, considering that I am constantly writing and drawing in front of her and that she often accompanied me to graduate school and to my office hours, and she’s frequently around when I’m working for her school. Oh, yeah, and the tiny jerkranching I do directly TO HER.

Fuck this. Mexico? Who’s up for Mexico? Can I get a HELL YES?

I came upstairs to wash my face and the girls were playing in Strudel’s room. Strudel was naked. Well, she was wearing fairy wings and a knit hat, but people were pretty sure that Olympia was naked when Manet painted her, so this counts, I think.

“MOM. Strudel is taking her wooden blocks and putting them into her GROSS vagina and they smell HORRIBLE.”

“Block!” Strudel said, waving a block around.

I pulled Franny into the bedroom.

“I don’t like to hear you describing your sister’s body as ‘gross’ and ‘horrible,’ especially her vagina,” I said. “We don’t want your sister to feel bad about herself or her body, do we?”

Franny shrugged. Translation: YES.

“Vaginas are cool,” I said. “Babies come out of them. And only women can make babies. That’s pretty special, I think. And you know, your butt used to smell when you wore plastic pants all day, too. She can’t help that she still needs diapers.”

We talked for a while about all the sparkle magic vagina powers, until we had exhausted the subject. I asked her where she got the idea from that vaginas were horrible, and she said she didn’t know.

“Do your friends say that?” I asked.

“NO. We aren’t allowed to have potty talk at school,” she said.

“Well, it’s not really potty talk…it’s more like something you would talk about more privately.”

There has been a lot of “ew, vaginas” business around for the past year or so. Recently, we were walking by a tree, and I said, “That tree looks like it has a vagina.” (Okay, so I admit it’s hard to have me as a parent in the first place.)

“EW! Tree vagina! Ew, Mom!” Franny said.

“What’s wrong with tree vaginas?” I said.

“Well, at least it’s not a MAN tree vagina,” Franny said.

I dunno, man.

I think I am going to write a song about Special Sparkle Vagina Magic, and I am going to sing it whenever this subject comes up, therefore conditioning her away from saying “ew,” at least. And condition her towards many years of therapy. I was going to write a song about all the things I’ve gotten stuck in my vagina, but this is better.

Today we were at the grocery store picking up some stuff for dinner when Franny found her favorite night manager, who has been her friend for almost three years now. I eavesdropped.

“How’s your summer going?” the night manager asked.

“Okaaay,” Franny said.

“What have you been doing?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Franny replied. Oh, that’s right. We haven’t been going to the Zoo, working on reading, or doing drama camp. And we certainly haven’t been going on vacation or anything.

“Nothing?” the manager pressed. “Nothing at all?”

“Well,” Franny conceded, “I have been sitting in a cardboard box, staring at the wall.”

I popped around the corner.

“LIES!” I shouted, pointing at Franny. Strudel murmured, abandoned in her strolly by the case of salsa and tortillas. “You’ve been reading. You’ve been doing a lot of stuff,” I accused.

Franny shrugged and glanced at the night manager as if to say, “I don’t know this crazy woman either. What’s with people, anyway?”

I’ll remember this the next time you need shots, Franny. I may just let you go rabid.

Evening Picnic

Companion: You’ll change your tune when I put that rottweiler *points to rottweiler across the park* in your butt.
Franny: No, you won’t.
Companion: How do you know?
Franny: That rottwilder would not EVEN fit in my butt.
Me: This is why I drink.

While Watching Aquamarine

Franny: Mom, I’m sorry, but I have to tell you something.
Me: I’m writing, kiddo.
Franny: I know, but it’s important.
I turned to face her.
Franny: I just farted and it smelled like one of yours.
Me: Why, god, why?

Theology Rap with Frannie

Franny and I were talking about war and people’s beliefs when Creationism came up.

“Some people think that God created the world,” I said.

“Yeah, like God, and Jesus, and Santa,” Franny said.

“What? Santa?”

“Yeah, Mom, don’t you remember the Narnia book? Santa was there at the beginning of the world giving people presents.”

And, behold, another new religion is born: Kringlism? Santaria? Ah, let’s just call it Capitalistmas. This kid can crank them out faster than L. Ron.