New Height Standard

Why aren’t I studying for my French midterm? Because I don’t want to.

Is that weird grammar, why aren’t I? Why am I not? Why amin’t? That last one works. Stress the first syllable, schwa the middle vowel: /AM-ənt/.  Pretty easy, yeah? And quite useful.

Why amin’t studying for my French midterm? A friend sent me a photograph of her newly-turned 3-year old yesterday. He was sitting behind a huge chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting on top and three candles staked into it, aflame. This was pre-consumption, obviously. I called this friend last night (before my hike at Rock Canyon) to wish her child a happy birthday. I’ve known this friend since we were 10 years old; I was her maid of honor. She calls my mother “Little Mom.” Her kids call me “Auntie May-May.” The least I could do was be a good aunt and get the update on the cupcake. Over the phone, it sounded like it turned into a performance art installation: chocolate smeared everywhere, on surfaces, little faces, pudgy fingers. I couldn’t be sure, but there also seemed to be interpretive dancing that included water guns that ARE NOT ALLOWED to be filled inside the house. In the name of art, mom, just this one time.

Anyway, when my friend was growing up, the children in her home weren’t considered “big kids” until they were taller than their grandmother. While the grandmother’s loving memory tarries, she has passed on, and so now my friend says that her children aren’t “big kids” until they’re taller than Auntie May-May. I told her I’d be more than happy to fill those shoes.

I had to write about it.

If by next year the then-4-year old is taller than me? SO not fair. Son’t fair at all.

One thought on “New Height Standard

  1. It was always a big day for me and my cousins when we went to give grandma a hug and discovered that we were taller than her. Granted, it was an easier task for me than it had been for some of my older cousins. All of the time that I had been growing, grandma had been shrinking.

    Even though I am now much taller than grandma, I’m pretty sure I’ll never get to be a real “big kid”. I still have to sit at the “little kid” table at Thanksgiving. Sometimes the mashed potatoes are gone before they reach our table. Son’t fair.

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