The Masker

My beautiful daughter is a little like Snow White. She wanders around singing little songs of her own creation all the live long day, but unfortunately without doing any housework as she does it. Just the other day I overheard one little tune that went a little like this:

“Have you ever seen a fairy just like me?
Have you ever seen a fairy
Kiss a Transformer
On the nose, on the nose
Have you ever seen a fairy
Just like me?”

Yes, my little pink princess is very much that little fairy. Her predilection for all things Pink and Sparkly is regularly off-set by things like her collection of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle toys and her obsession with wearing a Transformers’ Bumblebee mask. 

Now, if you’re not lucky enough to be au fait with Transformers oeuvre, I should add that this Bumblebee of which I speak is not, as he might sound, a cute little buzzy friend with fluffy antennas that bounce gently as he dances from flower to flower. Instead, he is a 1976 Camaro equipt with a cannon (yes, a cannon) which transforms into a blade (yes, a blade) when he himself converts to Robot Mode. Ah, the lyrical whimsy of children’s playthings!

And if you’re still struggling to envisage the mask, try to imagine the kind of mask that would most alarm old women in the 60-85 year age bracket. I’ve literally seen a few clutching their chests and grasping around for their heart medicine when they’ve caught a glimpse of my sweet little masker in the shopping trolley at Coles. And if you’ve been wondering what the hell a “masker” is, it’s one of my grammatical hangovers from Mr Justice’s earliest forays into language when people who wore masks were “maskers” who were “masking”. Come on, you know it makes sense.

Anyway, when The Pixie is strapped in the pram on the school run and wearing her favourite mask, I can’t help but feel like I’m transporting Hannibal Lecter between high security prisons. And her ongoing attachment to the mask and insistence on wearing it absolutely everywhere makes me think she’ll be wearing it down the aisle on her wedding day (and most likely dragging The Duck One to boot). But at the very same time, I have to admit that I really like it that, no matter how Pink’n'Pretty she is, she’s still got her foot planted firmly in the other camp (see her concept of the “Boy-Girl” for more on this theme). You go, sister-boy-girl-friend-whatever!

Mr Justice, on the other hand, is reaching that age where boys are boys and girls are girls and ne’er the two shall meet. The days when he asked his babysitter to dress him up in a Snow White costume, make up and hair-clips because he wanted to be “beautiful just like [Pixie]” are pretty much over – although not quite…

The other day I set up “Mummy’s Beauty Shop” which is my way of making trimming their fingernails fun. And it is fun. So much fun. Like the getting-your-legs-waxed, teeth-pulled or nipples-twisted kind of fun – at least judging from my children’s howls of pain when I do it. 

Anyway, the reward for staying still and thus not losing the tips of your fingers with my blunt manicure scissors is getting your fingernails painted. After Pixie and Tiddles had their nails trimmed and duly dipped in “Pink Taffy”, Mr Justice (somewhat surprisingly) presented his hands for a service. But when it came to the painting stage, he asked  ”Do you have any other colours other than pink?”

“Oh, but pink is so lovely and sparkly!” The Pixie exclaimed as she skipped around in the background, admiring her own nails.

“Pink is not a proper colour!!! No country on this planet has pink as its colour, [Pixie]!!!” Mr Justice retorted, with quite a lot of venom for a boy who then agreed to have his nails done in “Pearl Shimmer” in the very next breath. 

Ah! Boys, Girls, Transformers, Fairies, Pink Taffy, Pearl Shimmer… long may the lines drawn in the sand between them be blurred by little dancing feet and small well-manicured hands….