Babydoll names

I have discovered that my toddler has a highly marketable skill, though only if the market in question is Ikea.

Terza can name Ikea furniture lines.

Now, I know full well that Ikea furniture has Swedish names, and most likely, the names are Swedish words that mean something in Swedish and, in that respect, she's got nothing. However, were Ikea to run out of Swedish words, and find themselves in need of words that just sound vaguely Swedish, or more to the point, Ikea-ish, my daughter will be just the one they are looking for.

Whenever we play with her dolls or animals or figures, and I ask what the name of the character is, she invariably begins with: "Cala." It used to be that all the character would bear the same name - Cala -- which made pretend play very confusing, a little like when I go to family functions of my best friend from high school who is Greek, because there are always 20 Georges.

But now that she's a bit older, she's diversified her name collection. It now includes:

Cala

Cali

Shippa

Skirti

Mongo

and Oliver.

(Ikea will just have to forgive her the last one. Nobody's perfect).

Goblin, the game

My daughters have devised a new game of pretend. It is called, simply, "Goblin."

The game is simple. Terza, age 3, is a baby named Goblin. She is not, as I initially thought, a goblin baby. That would be absurd. Instead she is a human baby that has distinctly goblin-like characteristics, including growling, crawling on all fours and a generally aggressive disposition.

Seconda is her owner. Which is to say, her master.

You can see where this game is going. Seconda orders Terza around. Terza obeys. Terza is delighted. Second is delighted. I am mildly disturbed but they are amusing themselves so I say nothing. Seconda is a benevolent master, more maternal than anything else. She has a gentle scolding tone to her voice, but never issues a harsh rebuke.

It's all, "Oh no no no, Goblin! You know better than to bite the table!"

and, "Goblin, it's feeding time! What do you have to do if you want your bottle? That's right! Sit down."

and, to me, "You'll have to excuse my baby Goblin. She likes to bite people."

Goblin has no voice. The metaphor is not lost on me. Though I can't say Terza minds. Quite the opposite.

The other day, Seconda gave herself a character upgrade. She put on her communion veil and her communion glove and shiny, brand-new silver party shoes ("are these designer?" she asked  baffled me). Goblin also got an upgrade, though not as lavish. She hasn't received first holy communion, after all, so pickings are slim. Seconda pranced around the apartment, with Terza trailing right behind her, on all fours, barking and growling and looking positively elated.

I find it's best not to think too deeply about the fucked-up power dynamics one sees played out in pretend play. After all, isn't that what pretend play is for? And isn't that was big sisterhood is all about? I remember my sister singing back-up for me in our two-girl band for our entire childhood. Did it traumatize her for life, and give her an inferiority complex? Well, probably. But, on the plus side. it also gave her grit galore.

Why do kids love pretend shopping but deplore actual shopping?

When we were in Philly, I took my girls to the Please Touch Museum. Every time I hear the name, I think of my friend, who refers to it as the Please Touch Me museum. That is not relevant to the story; I just thought since I was permanently marked with that, I should mark you as well. I told that to my husband and he started referring to it as the See Me, Feel Me, Touch Me, Heal Me Museum, raising the crazy to nonsensical levels.

So, we went to the Please Touch Museum and the girls had a blast. We stayed for almost three hours and they didn't stop for a minute, just ran from one pretend play area to the next.

David and Primo went to the Philadelphia Museum of Art (they did not run up the stairs singing the theme to Rocky, in case you're wondering, and that is precisely why my family needs me because I would have forced them to). When the boys picked us up, Primo asked hat they had in the Please Touch Me, See Me, Heal Me Museum.

"Well they had this huge pretend kitchen which led to a pretend supermarket and a pretend bakery and a pretend hospital with a pretend garden in back. And then, of course, there was the pretend garage with all the pretend vehicles, to say nothing of the pretend treehouse."

"So, it was all just pretend play stuff?" he asked.

"Yes, but the girls loved it. Especially the pretend kitchen. Imagine your workaday play kitchen, only twenty times bigger, so that it's really almost the size of a real kitchen." I explained.

Yes, the kitchen and grocery store was the piece de resistance and as the afternoon wore on, it got more and more crowded so that, again, it resembled a real grocery store mobbed with grownups doing actual shipping. Standing there, watching the children frantically filling and emptying their miniature shopping carts with groceries -- many of which were actual food boxes and cartons, covered in contact paper -- I wondered something:

"Why is it that when we go to the real grocery store, and do exactly this, it is pure torture but when we go to a "pretend" one, it is sheer unadulterated joy and hours of satisfaction?"

And then, immediately, I realized why. It's just the tiny little matter of control.

When they come shopping with me, they can't go where they please and push their own carts, and fill those carts with ten boxes of graham crackers and six loaves of Italian bread and then, two seconds later, throw all of the bread on the floor, and then ten seconds after that, put it on a shelf and then, five seconds after that, put it back in their cart.

So, I'd like to announce that I have discovered the secret to keeping kids happy while grocery shopping. Just give them a cart and let them do whatever the hell they want.

In fact, I'll go one step further and say I've discovered the secret to keeping kids happy everywhere and all the time. It's exactly the same thing, just without the cart.

Yes, I know, totally invaluable.