Culture, and my children

Yesterday Lucy requested that this weekend, we watch UP-MULAN! Whaaaaaat is that, I asked, and thank god my Toddler-to-Human Translator, aka Eliza to the rest of you, was there, because she explained that the original Mulan movie is a row higher in our netflix screen than the sequel, aka DOWN-MULAN.

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Here is a goal-oriented toddler with an enormous towel roll heading for the pool:

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Eliza flunked her vision test at school and you have never seen a kid more excited to have wonky eyes. We confirmed her wonky-eye-having-ness at the optometrist this Thursday, where she looked at the weird thing with the gears that they use to check your prescription and said, “That’s very steampunk!”

And then Jim IMMEDIATELY took her to Costco to buy glasses in a self-preservation move because he knew otherwise she would kill us with the casual hint dropping and the outright whining.

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Here is Eliza with the ducks from the Make Way for Ducklings sculpture during the first trip to Boston, and this time:
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Eliza is on episode 10 of Welcome to Night Vale and has read almost all of the Roald Dahl books in her compendium. Also, her favorite Hawkeye comic is the one form the viewpoint of Pizza Dog. I think it’s safe to say my kid has more nerd cred than I do right now. Given that what passes as “mainstream” (and I know geek culture is just a hair away from mainstream itself these days) for girls was best summed up by Joss Whedon as “Choosing Boyfriends, the movie!” I am A-OK with encouraging the nerdery.

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Here are Lucy and my mom brushing their teeth together.

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Relatedly, I am trying to train Jim to wear the clothes I like through positive reinforcement: leering at him and telling him he is rocking the “hot nerd” look. Also, pawing at him when he wears that one checked shirt. He is slowly catching on.

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Here is Eliza eating fancy ramen at Waga Mama in Boston:

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I have trained The Toddler that when Agents of SHIELD is on, we only talk to Mommy during the commercials. This is not a thing she respects during any other show, but something about my demeanor when I watch that show seems to have convinced her not to test me. She calls it “the show with the plane and the yelling.” I am unsure whether she means my yelling or the characters’ yelling. There is a lot of both lately. *SOMEONE* has gotten herself a little over-invested in another Joss Whedon project. I am 50 million kinds of smug about having recognized that there was a long game being played on the order of the reversal perpetrated upon the readers of Gone Girl. It was all, oh let’s build a team and speeches about trust for ages and then BAM SHIT GOT REAL AND WHO DID WHAT TO THE WHO NOW OH NO YOU DIDN’T YOU DID OMIGOD YOU DID YOU DID YOU REALLY REALLY DID. When a show easter-eggs a plot twist in a related movie by drawing parallels between mutilated brainwashed assassins who like to jump on cars and yoink the steering wheels out of cars, well, let’s just all assume that I am aboard that particular crazy train. (Said crazed brain-washed assassin also has a hell of a dismount. Seriously. SPARKS.)

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Here is the piece of music that is currently the Song of My Heart, courtesy of an episode of Welcome to Night Vale. I NEVER listen to the “weather” because most of the music bores me, but this one got me right away, and now I drive around hollering:

Boy, where’s your mother? Fall down dead
Dirty mind, dirty mouth, pretty little head
I wish you were here, I wish you’d make my bed
Dirty mind, dirty mouth, pretty little head

No, I do not know what the hell she is talking about either but I don’t much care because this song is made of creepy, creepy win:

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