First sword

Well, it's our baby book. We record these things. Fiona went to a birthday party yesterday-- part of one, anyhow. Our neighbor turned 6, and invited over a handful of boys to play Playmobil with him. His mom imagined it would be a boisterous affair, and knowing Fiona's play habits there as the two of us do we figured Fiona would have the most fun once the loudest part of the party had ceased and she could just walk over when it came time for presents and refreshments.

The arrangement was perfect-- there was still plenty of merrymaking to be had. Fiona had a fabulous time. And when at last she came home, she was brandishing a Brand New Amazing Toy. She didn't say she adored it. She didn't have to. She immediately came out to find me as I was making dinner, held it out straight-armed in front of herself like a relic and announced, "I don't want Nora to mess this up. I would like to keep it right up here on the kitchen shelf where I can enjoy it and you can get it down for me when I would like to play with it." This five-year old has been around the block.

I already knew about the toy long before Fiona came home with it. Kathleen had called from next-door to tell me about it first. "We had a little girl ready for her if she'd wanted it," she said. "But she wanted that one. She popped the little helmet on and seemed rather enchanted with the shield and the belt and the sword. No sexism here!" I grinned into the phone. You go, girl. Go get 'em, tiger!

So, now our family has its first weapon, unless you count those devious little Legos that climb under the arch of your foot when you're not looking. And while we don't buy weapon toys for our kids, I tend to believe that outlawing them outright might cause the same utter fascination that our relative TV smackdown has caused. It's fine-- we'll just need to 'talk about it more', that's all. In the end, I guess this little guy can hold watch in the kitchen as long as he behaves himself. Just like everyone else around here, he simply needs to use his words.