My most sensitive child is the only one who requests The Princess and the Pea at story time. I have never cared for that story. The princess irritates me. Heaven preserve me from such a daughter-in-law. (Future wives of The Brothers H - I'll be doing well if I can get clean sheets on the bed when you come to visit.) Then I read the following:
"And they [children] all understand princesses, of course. Haven't they all been badly bruised by peas?" from Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L'EngleI wonder if this story speaks to my son in this way. In a house with four rambunctious boys, the inevitable injuries, self-inflicted and otherwise, completely derail him. I am often unsympathetic because good grief, it's only a pea. I think I need to reflect on what it feels like to be four (and three quarters). I still remember a few peas that left marks on me.
When I was six, my mom let my brother sign up for the Sesame Street Club using his first two initials as a first name. I wanted to sign up using the name Sarah as I had recently visited my thoroughly cool cousin, Sarah. My mom said no. In my six year old world, the injustice of this situation defied words.
In kindergarten, the other girls said I couldn't be the bride in our play wedding because my tummy was too big. That one is still a little painful, and I'm thirty-three.