Negotiations

So when I picked Spilly up from her daycare arrangement tonight, I was met at the door by her five-year-old best friend/worst nemesis Donna. At any given moment, the two are either in blissful union or about to destroy each other.

Donna said severely, "She called me a goo-goo head. I don't like that. I told her I don't like it when you call me a goo-goo head. It's not nice."

On the way out to the car, Spilly said severely, "Today when we were doing a concert, Donna pretended everyone was just clapping for her, and not for me. I didn't like that. That wasn't nice, was it, Mommy?"

"Well," I said, opening the door for her to get in, "I understand that you called Donna a goo-goo head today, and I don't think that was particularly nice either."

Silence, as I buckled her into her booster seat.

"Do you know about that?" Spills said, at last.

"Yes, I do know about that."

"Donna told?"

"Yes, Donna told."

"When did she tell you?"

"When you were getting your coat."

I started the car. "Here we go!" I said brightly.

Much more silence.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No," I said. "I'm not mad at you. I think that you and Donna have to figure out how to be friends together, and not say or do things that hurt each other's feelings, though, don't you?"

Then I launched into what was probably the most moving, well-defined, articulate and inspiring speech that there has ever been. I explained, stirringly, about the necessity for getting along in this world, and about how we are all interdependent. I deftly wove some of the world's great religions into my theme. By the end, it was clear to me that I had outlined a template for peace that exuded clarity and decency and balance.

Until a tiny, barely-to-be-heard voice whispered balefully, "She is a goo-goo head."