a compliment

The Kidling, like most children, is honest to a fault. And I love it. Her lack of a filter is always usually a beautiful sign of her lack of inhibition and ignorance of the notion of judgment. And sometimes it is little embarrassing. Sometimes it is awfully embarrassing. Hell, sometimes it is incredibly embarrassing. Sometimes it is even inappropriate for this blog.

Not often.

Regardless of whether The Kidling’s candor is a little embarrassing or unbloggable, it is always refreshing. Even when it bruises my not-at-all fragile ego. Case in point? Dinner.

The Mama loves to cook, but I don’t do recipes. Sometimes this yields a delicious, healthy meal and sometimes it means a meal that is, at best, edible. One evening just after Thanksgiving, I made a delicious soup (if I do say so myself). The Kidling, however, was not convinced. Taking a small bite, she smiled.

Well done, Mama, I thought to myself. She likes it!

Self-satisfied, I continued to eat my soup. The Kidling took another bite before offering her assessment, “I like it more than I hate it.”

Thank goodness for the not-at-all-fragile ego.

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About The Mamahttp://kidlingville.comProfessional talker, editor, emailer, problem solver, adjunct lecturer, blogger, and mother to the brilliantly absurd Kidling.

23 thoughts on “a compliment

  1. I gotta smile at what I can imagine her serious, but casual expression was when she deadpanned her critique.

  2. LOL. That happened to me last night. After finding my son making art with his dinner (he’s 5 and had been warned), I sent him to bed with nothing to eat. Welcome to 1980’s parenting. We don’t do artwork at dinner time, especially 3-D artwork that winds up on my side of the table. 😉

  3. My daughter once said sweetly, looking up into my face, “one day I’ll be prettier than you.” She was horrified when I informed her that her statement could be construed as hurtful in the wrong company and probably shouldn’t be addressed to any of her friends. Her reasoning was, “I thought you would want better for me.”

    • Oh, the sass. It is just so… sassy.

      I tell Alice she can’t be sassy unless she’s wearing her sassy pants. Then she gets pissed, which is worse than sassy. So maybe just keep your mouth shut?

  4. At least she didn’t just say, “I’m good,” and push it away, and then eat cereal later.

    We’ve been trying to teach our kids to eat things they can tolerate. They don’t have to eat things they hate. I’m going to start incorporating: “Just eat it if you like it more than you hate it.”

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