Just Check Under the Tail

We now have an unofficial pet. Not the kind you have to feed, clean, play with, and dress (heaven forbid), but an animal we are fond of nonetheless. It has no name. It lives under the boulder by our townhouse. It digs holes in our yard and eats all of the ripe strawberries from our strawberry plants. (I guess that means we're feeding it. Dang it.) It is a chipmunk. Sean has voted to name it Alvin, Simon, or Theodore. Anna was concerned that we give it a gender-appropriate name. Since nobody else has seen the little guy in action early in the morning, Anna referred to me for help.

Anna: Mom, is it a boy chipmunk or a girl chipmunk?

Me (never considering that this would be important): I don't know.

Anna: Didn't you look?

Me: NO.

Anna: You know you just have to look at its bottom to tell if its a boy or a girl.

Me (thinking): Thank you Kindergarten sex-ed classes. Now I have to identify the gender of small rodents.

Me (out loud): I don't want to look at the bottom of the chipmunk.

Anna: All you have to do is pick it up by the tail and look.

Me (thinking): For crying out loud. Who has the sense of mind to check for gender if they could catch and hold up a chipmunk by its tail?

Me (out loud): I don't believe I am well-versed enough in Chipmunk privates to know even if I could (or wanted to) catch a wild rodent.

Anna: Oh. Well, at least we'd know.

So, we've named the chipmunk Pat.

Actoo-wee . . .

We have learned an important fact about Elizabeth - she is brutally honest. And she notices everything. We went to drop Anna off at school this morning and were greeted by her fantastic principal, who knows every child at the school and his/her parents.

Me: Goodbye, Anna. Have a great day at school.

Principal: Anna always has a great day. She is so happy.

Elizabeth: Actoo-wee, Anna cries about school. She is also whiny.

Anna (with a dirty look at Elizabeth): Bye, Mom.

Principal (with a straight face, presumably because she didn't understand Elizabeth): Bye!

Me (keen to be gone): Thank you! Bye!

So, I held it in until I got around the corner, and then I laughed hysterically. But you know what, it wasn't very funny when Anna was the same age and told all of the History graduate students that her dad was getting her mom tiny underwear for Christmas. (She saw some Tinkerbell underwear through a Target bag. They were a surprise for her, so Sean said he was getting them for me for Christmas. Joke's on me.) So I guess I have to appreciate how Anna felt. I think the only solution is to limit the amount of exposure that three-year-olds have to a public audience. Its best for them, for me, and (let's face it) for the public.