I think I had told her it was time for lunch which meant she had to stop watching the iPad. Obviously, The Dude had backed me up. Doodle the dog sided with the child and followed her to the door, where she yelled out
“Dear God, Mummy and Daddy are Poopy Pants <pause> but Doodle is okay!” (You could hear the capital letters and everything.)
– tell her she can’t call her parents poopy pants
– pretend it hadn’t happened
But who hasn’t wanted to call people poopy pants from time to time? And she had taking her frustrations to the Prince of Peace himself, who would have whispered to her anxious heart “yes, but I love them anyway, and I love you.” He must have whispered something because she came to the table, and we did what needed to be done and I got a chance to tell her she did good listening.
Because as far as she was concerned, she was talking to God not me, so I couldn’t hear what she was saying . As far as she knows, she can tell God anything. He’s the One who won’t tell her she can’t call people poopy pants. I know this because as insults go, whitewashed sepulchre is still way worse. I know this because psalmists asked God to kill people and we read them in solemn voices on a Sunday.
And there was a cry in her heart that couldn’t be put into words, a prayer for safety and peace and comfort. I think that sometimes , being Little Person can be a lonely place. She has such big feels, and no words to put to them. She can’t tell me when she’s tired or poorly or frustrated or afraid. I can’t see into her heart.
But I know two hours later, she was singing that we are the best family in the world. And I was so glad I hadn’t laughed at her prayer.
Well, not out loud at least.