Trivial Pursuits: Was it something I said?

By: 
Jamie Hult, Staff writer
I don’t know about other 8-year-old girls, but the one bunking with me has thin skin, lofty expectations, and not much room for leeway.
My daughter also has her own logic.
Last Friday I took Greta to the store to buy gifts for four friends with upcoming birthdays, only one of whose name I recognized and none of whom had sent home party invites.
It seems my kiddo not only promised presents, but she also took requests. 
“Mom, can we go to Target? They want Orbeez,” Gret said breathlessly. 
We’ve had this talk before – as soon as she finds out there’s a birthday, she’s hell-bent on getting a gift, or if a friend loses an earring, a replacement pair must be procured ASAP – you get the idea.
“Greta, you know I’m not made of money –” I loathe this cliché, yet I still hear it leaving my lips sometimes – “and that’s not how it works. How it usually works is you get an invitation, then you get them a present.”
“But it’s the nice thing to do, Mom.”
“But you can’t promise presents like that. You have to ask me or Dad first.”
“But it’s the nice thing to do.”
This could have gone on all day, and I paused. Was she right? Suddenly my future debate star had me second-guessing myself. And when I can’t make up my mind, I’m much more susceptible to my daughter’s demands. 
I begrudgingly stopped at the nearest retail store with toy aisles, none of which contained the water bead fad toy, but Greta wasn’t deterred. So-and-so likes dogs, so she got a stuffed one on a keychain. Another got slime. When I suggested we get them all slime, in the spirit of fairness, my daughter explained that wouldn’t do; not everyone likes slime. Seriously?
We located a unicorn for the girl who likes unicorns – her defining characteristic, apparently, as Gret knew of nothing else the daycare friend may find acceptable – and a T-shirt for the last.
On the way home, I told my daughter she was spoiled. 
I was musing aloud – a terrible habit of mine which often gets me in trouble – and made the remark in the sort of voice one would use if he or she were saying, “I wonder if it’s going to rain today.”
But my offspring took immediate umbrage. 
I didn’t back-pedal exactly – while “spoiled” typically has a negative connotation, I explained, in this instance I was simply saying, “You’re a lucky girl.” I left off “…who gets whatever she wants.”
“You need to apologize, then ask if I accept your apology,” Greta said firmly.
I paused. Was she right? Again? 
“I’m sorry. Do you accept my apology?” I said, finally.
“Yes. I apologize for asking you to apologize. Do you accept my apology?” 
“I do,” I said, suppressing my automatic eye roll.
Then I turned the radio up, keeping it on the oldies, and sang along. It was Billy Joel, and he was singing about an uptown girl who’s been living in her white bread world. Greta, to her credit, suppressed her automatic whine to change the station. I guess I had earned it. 

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