Rebecca Eckler is one of Canada's most talked about newspaper columnists, the author of Knocked Up: Confessions of a Hip Mother to Be, which has been translated into nine languages. Also the author of the bestsellers, Wiped!, Toddlers Gone Wild, and Rotten Apple, the first in a YA series. Random thoughts on life in the competitive world of modern mommyhood. Blog will be loved by trendy mothers who still feel, or often feel, that the most important word in "mommee" is ME!

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

The $140 (US) Jeans Part Deux

So, we were driving yesterday to dinner, when The Fiance said, "So, I've been thinking about those jeans."

My heart sank. "Crap! Crap! Crap!" I thought. "He's not going to let me buy them."

"What? You think they're too expensive for a two year old, right?" I said.

"No, it's not that," he said, which was so good to hear, because I had already have decided that I am going to buy a pair, a size or two larger than needed, for The Dictator.

"I just don't want her growing up thinking that brand names are important. I don't want her to know what Gucci is at age four," he explained.

I thought this was perfectly valid. Luckily, The Dictator is just two, and thinks that popsicle sticks are the next best thing to empty boxes. She does have a Dior shirt, a few Burberry items, and one Dolce and Gabanna shirt, and, really, she has not a clue and rather be naked.

"So, I'm going to buy them, right? Because she's only two and has no idea what brands mean," I said, just wanting to make sure that I wouldn't have to lie and say they were on sale. I was getting those jeans.

"Right," said the Fiance.

So I'm buying the jeans tomorrow. And that's that (Oh, and I also saw a mini pair of Vans for toddlers - remember Vans? - so cute. She's definitely getting a pair of those!)

Moving on to how the Mother In Law won't let me speak to my child. Ok, I have to be nice because she's a very lovely person who loves The Dictator probably more than me. Ok, that's not true. But you know what I mean.

I've been good, only calling Nanny Mimi three times a day to check on The Dictator. I really want to call every 30 minutes, but I know that Nanny Mimi would kill me, so would The Fiance.

But when The Dictator visits her grandparents almost every evening for two hours, and I call, The In Laws will be all like, "She's eating a treat right now. She can't come to the phone," or, "She's playing the piano. She can't come to the phone," or, "She's watching TV. She can't come to the phone."

Fifteen minutes ago, I just heard the, "She can't come to the phone" line from the In-Laws, and, I swear, I screamed, "I don't give a $%*^% what she's doing. She's my $#*% daughter and I want to *#%$^# speak to her right *#$%#* now!"

Ok, I didn't say that. Because they're my In-Laws. But, through clenched teeth, I explained I didn't care what The Dictator was doing, I wanted to hear her voice.

I mean, really. I miss The Dictator to death. To even hear her say, "Hi mommy," would be good enough. Too busy? WTF? She's two! She's never too busy to do anything, especically too busy to talk to her own mother!

Next time The In Laws call and ask to speak to their almost 40 year old son, I might just say, "Sorry, he's having a treat. He can't come to the phone." And see how they like it.