I know full well that there will come a day when I won’t have the liberty to blog about my kids and their lives. When that day comes, I will shut my trap and give them their privacy because (1) that’s what good mommies do, and (2) they could kill me in my sleep.
Until that day comes, I can blog about anything I want because they can’t read and they have to keep me alive because I am the only one who knows where the chocolate is hidden.
So, I need to talk about Sadie’s purse fetish. She has slowly co-opted about 5 of my (now) former purses, and I am not talking about straw-ass handbags from Target; I am talking about real leather, animals-died-for-this purses that I used in my former life in the corporate world. (Think: Furla, Kenneth Cole, and some imported Florentine handbags.) She loves them, and because she uses them in her imaginative play, I justify letting her have them because fostering her imagination is important (and it gets her out of my hair so I can pin new shit on Pinterest).
Yesterday, however, she was walking from room to room with a giant trash bag. (You may see a suffocation hazard, but I see hours of developmentally appropriate imaginative play.)
“Sadie, what’s in that garbage bag?” I asked her because I like to engage with her while my Facebook page is loading.
“It’s not a garbage bag, it’s my purse.” She answered, as she slung it over her shoulder like Meryl Streep in Devil Wears Prada.
I try not to judge other people’s fashion
failures choices, but when it comes to my kid, there’s only so much white trash I can endure. It just hits a little too close to home, when it’s actually in my home. To console myself about the fall from Burberry to a Costco trash bag, I decided that the trash-bag-as-purse was most likely her ironic commentary on the consumerism of our society or her subtle hint that most of the stuff in my purse is garbage.
“Damn, she’s a genius. I bet she ends up writing polemical essays for The Nation or BUST,” I smugly said to myself as I emptied her “purse” when she was napping (because I needed it to shove a bunch of
Jeff’s crap trash in it for an upcoming trip to Goodwill).
Here’s what I found in Sadie’s “purse”:
1. Pink jersey sheet from her bed
2. Recipe booklet
3. All of her clean underwear
4. A spare pair of leggings
Upon review of her inventory, I wonder if Sadie is planning to run away from home and ride the rails like a hobo, which would explain the clean underwear and the recipe book. Maybe she’s considering a life “off the grid.”
Maybe she has confused “junk drawer” with “purse,” which is understandable considering what she has seen me put in my purse (boogery tissues, the ever-exotic tampons she can’t figure out, and half-eaten snacks from months ago). Most likely, as always when it comes to my kids, I have no f*cking idea what she’s thinking, and I should make peace with never, ever knowing.
So, what’s in your toddler’s purse? And more importantly, what does your toddler use as a purse?