CRAZY STRIPPER!

Once upon a time, not all that long ago, a wonderful and devoted mother, me, woke up one morning and decided to make her 3 year-old son, Austin, a wonderful pancake breakfast. Austin can be quite picky about how he eats his food and/or has it served to him, and his desires can change on a whim. So whenever we have pancakes I always ask him if he wants butter on the pancakes or on the side. Syrup on the pancakes or on the side? Pancakes whole or cut up?

One day Austin decided he’d rather have his syrup on the side. Therefore I asked him if he wanted his pancakes cut into strips so he could more easily dunk the strips into the syrup, rather than trying to dip the whole pancake. He was very excited by this new proposition, so I proceeded to cut his pancakes into strips. Breakfast went very smoothly, cleanup proceeded just fine, and we were off on our day.

Much, much later that day, Austin became frustrated with me, about what I’ve long since forgotten. And because he doesn’t yet really know what real name-calling is, he often makes things up to call you when he gets mad. One of his favorite is “ipper.” I have no idea what an “ipper” is, but I’ve been accused of it more than once, as has Jason. Well on this particular day, Austin came up with what he considered a wonderfully new and derogatory insult. He was so frustrated with me he stomped his foot, looked me straight in the eye, and said,

“You crazy stripper!”

I was certain I had misunderstood him.

“What did you say?”

“I called you are a crazy stripper!”

“Where did you hear that?”

“From when you made my pancakes into strips this morning.”

Next came the gentle and calm explanation that we do not call people strippers or any other names for that matter, which, I might add, is a somewhat difficult conversation to have when you’re trying not to start laughing about the whole scene.

So there it is. My son thinks I’m a stripper, and as it turns out, I guess I am!