Girls Club


Regular readers of this blog know that Rhiannon is in Girls Club. Her cheer is:

"Gooooooooooooo Girls Club!"

Tonight, after we got home from a wonderful evening out (post to follow), I washed the dishes while she settled in with pen and paper.

"Dad? How do you spell 'girls'?"

"How do you think? What's it start with?"

"'G'."

"Right. Then what?"

"'U'."

Rhiannon is struggling with English vowels because they can all sound alike. Well, a lot of them can sound alike.

"Close. It's an 'i'."

"Okay."

And so, with some coaching from the resident orthographer, she writes up the 13 Rules of Girls Club. Rhiannon has always been the boss of something, or of someone. And now, with this Magna Carta, she can be the boss of both something and lots of someones. Well, at least four someones.

For those of you who cannot read five-year-old, I have transcribed her rules here, annotating as needed:

1 No lies
2 No putdowns
3 No nonos
4 No kittys [sic]
5 No bucs [sic -- unless she hates Tampa Bay]
6 No boys
7 No pretties
8 No books [I fret for the girls in the reading club]
9 No ink [apparently tattooed kindergartners are frowned upon]
10 No animals [sorry, Delta House]
11 No carrots [?]
12 No running
13 No [she has seen too many Capital One commericals -- damn you, David Spade!]

Hell hath no fury like Rhiannon. No. No. No.

Rhiannon. Officiously Cute.

Andrew (Papa)