"I can't reach the hand soap on the bathroom counter," The Boss said, bursting into the living room in a flurry of eye rolls and the pursing of lips.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize." I was a bit taken aback by the histrionics. I directed her toward more accessible soap and told her I'd rectify the situation when I was done feeding her brother.
The Boss was not deterred. "Why did you do that, mom? Why'd you put the soap so far back?" She stared at me with her father's righteousness while she contorted her mouth into one of so many expressions that even strangers comment on. "Did you think my arm was as long as yours? Did you?"
I refrained from comment.
The Boss's eyebrows danced above huge blue disks, rising and falling amidst all that width of sight. Then she flourished her right arm in accusation and demonstration. "It's this long, mom. My arm is this long."
Parenting requires a change in perspective. So often, it demands a getting-down-on-one's-knees approach. Whether it's a proactive lowering to see things at a child's level or a request for forgiveness that comes after the fact, I've discovered that I cannot effectively mother my children from 5 feet plus. If I didn't consciously acknowledge this before today, I have no choice but to keep it in mind from now on. The Boss told me so. And thus it is.
For a short girl, The Boss has high expectations.