Sam Has a Girl Friend

I met Callie’s mommy at a mother’s club event this winter.  Realizing we had kiddos about the same age, we decided to get together at their house.  No sweat, I assured myself, there will plenty of stuff for Sam to play with there even if they are opposite genders.  Well, no siree.  There was not a truck or train to be seen.  Sam took one look at her pink and purple toys and wanted out of that playroom in a big, bad way.  

Before I knew it, he was out the door, through the living room, and headed upstairs in search of adventure, perhaps hoping against hope to discover a stash of toys that were not pastel in color.  No such luck — there were no such toys to be found, and I apprehended him before he got too far.  He was not happy to be corralled back into the playroom which contained nothing with which he would actually want to play.  Callie’s mommy saved the day by crossing the gender gap with the Cailloux show, something they both love.  (Beware if you haven’t seen Cailloux yet.  I have the theme song running through my head and have a feeling it will be lodged there into infinity and beyond.)  

A few episodes later, Sam had absolutely had it.  Out!  He wanted out!  He managed to crack open one of the French doors and was about to make a jailbreak like “The Great Escape” all over again.  Seeing the bad boy in action, the ever helpful Callie sauntered over and shut the door — on his hand.  He started to howl at the top of his lungs.   I had no idea what had happened but knew it wasn’t good as I lunged over there.  Thankfully his fingers were just sore but OK.  

So it’s safe to safe to say their friendship was off to a rocky start.  After that whenever I’d ask Sam if he wanted to play with Callie, he’s say, “Oh, she’s too tired.  She’s taking a nap.”  Wow — he’s already got Southern gentility down pat before the third anniversary of his birth.  Not bad.

Well, I did manage to talk him into going over there again, only after I explained that it would only be for five minutes while Callie’s mother ran an errand.  Then we would all go to the park. Plus this time I came prepared, bringing along a recent yard sale acquisition -an honest-to-goodness “boy-toy” for him, a blue plastic police car.  

Surprisingly enough, though, while Callie’s mommy was out, the two of them hit it off.  Callie invited him to have “tea” with her.  Sam accepted like a proper gentleman, seating himself at her little pink table and struggling to wedge his long gangly legs underneath.  Once Callie prepared the “tea,” she sat down katty corner to Sam.  Sam looked over at her with an expression that was quite familiar to me, but not one I had ever seen him use before then.  It was the Date Face.  

I’m sure you know the Date Face, even if you think you don’t.  You know — it’s that pleasant look that guys tend to paste on their faces on the first couple of dates.  That’s what it was — I hadn’t seen it in years being a married lady and all, but I definitely know the Date Face when I see it, and there it was on plastered on Sam Macky’s rosy cheeks.  I guess it’s in the male chromosome.  

I did my best to stifle my gales of laughter, but in the blink of an eye that moment was over. Sam got called away (by his own mind) from the table to go fight a fire on the other side of the playroom, and Callie decided to whip up a batch of spaghetti with her baby doll nearby.  I guess these gender stereotypes have developed over time for a reason.