A Betting Woman

Last night Sweet M was brushing her hair after her shower and she said, "Hey M (she calls me by my first name), I need five dollars -- can I get five dollars?"

"Sure, but whadaya need five dollars for?"

"Well, actually, I need ten dollars."

"Well, okay, but what do you need ten dollars for?"

"Well, I made this bet with David and Jeffrey that Jeffrey's toy car wouldn't go all the way up to the top of the slide from the bottom and it did so then I lost the bet and so now I owe David $5 and since I didn't pay him today he says I owe him $10 tomorrow and Jeffrey says I owe them $15."

Whoa.

Did you get that giant stream of language there? That's new.

Did you get a report of social interaction with peers? That's new.

And did you get gambling at school, for real money, with the loan shark interest of 100% per day?

I hardly knew what to say.

"M, are you allowed to gamble at school?"

"I don't know . . . I think so."

"I doubt you're allowed to gamble at school, but I'm going to call your teacher and ask her about what to do, okay?"

"Okay."

And off to bed she went, to read her pages of the dictionary and fall into the happy sleep that eluded us for so many years.

She reads. And she sleeps.

Whoa.

Change comes slowly, and then it seems to come all at once.

Okay. She is twelve. At twelve the NT girls are hanging out with each other and giggling about boys, makeup, dances, kissing, periods.

Our girl is sliding toy cars up the playground slide with her male classmates. And, as far as I can guess, having her sweet naïveté taken advantage of.

So this is not exactly age appropriate. But who cares?

Whoo-hoo, she's talking. She's playing. I'm betting on her.