"Just call it a dog!"

Dogs are a recurring theme this week. For those of you losing sleep over the suspense of what we named the new puppy, "Bailey" won out over "Kelpie" in my oh-so-scientific straw poll. So I now have a new introductory word on the broken record command of "NO BITE."

But there was another dog issue recently when I was in Aurora to see my visiting grandmother, who was staying there at my aunt and uncle's house. Another aunt had accompanied her, and everybody was eager to see Riley. The aunts, Granny, Riley and I were walking down to a nearby playground, and Riley was happily taking in the sights. We'd point to trees, flowers, leaves, rocks -- all of the exciting scenery. Riley would attempt to repeat the words back to us.

In my ongoing efforts to prep my daughter for academic and life success, I speak mostly Spanish to her. So I'd point out arbol, flor, piedra, carro, etc. I could tell this was not sitting well with Granny. This is an 81-year-old woman who lives outside of a microscopic ranching town in the Texas hill country. As much as I hate to perpetuate stereotypes about Texans, here I go. To say Granny is closed-minded is a gross understatement. If industrial-strength lubricant were strategically applied to her tightly-shuttered brain, perhaps it could crack open just enough to embrace that new-fangled technology the kids call "fire."

So as I rolled my rs and dropped my ds, Granny bristled. Nevermind that Riley was enthralled. Forget that she knows her ojos, nariz, boca and panzita. Granny was quite put out that I wasn't speaking English. So finally when I repeated perro to my daughter as a dog barked, Granny barked herself. "Just call it a dog!" she spat.

Just like all the other times someone has jabbed at my parenting skills, my hackles rose and I felt a growl building in the back of my throat. But I swallowed it and pretended like I didn't hear it, just like I pretend not to hear people who tell me Riley's hands are cold, she's too small, I'm wasting my money on organic food for her or I'd be a better example for her if I left her in daycare so I could work fulltime.

Not that I'm keeping track. I really do my best to let it all roll off my back, but it's not a smooth or quick roll. I have to keep reminding myself that no matter how well- or ill-intentioned the critical masses are, they don't know my daughter like I do. So they don't really know squat.