That's no lady, that's my babysitter

On Sunday we did something amazing: we got a babysitter and went to a movie.

It had occurred to me recently that while going out in the evening is still a pipe-dream, owing to Mabel's sleeping - that is, waking - habits, we could perhaps get someone to watch the kids of an afternoon and skip out to a matinee. And that if it was an actual babysitter whom we paid with actual money, I would be more willing to do it instead of feeling that I was constantly depending on the kindness of friends to mind my horrible offspring.

In the end we did a bit of both. I arranged that one of the teaching assistants in Monkey's school would come and babysit on the day in question. But then Monkey threw a wobbly at the idea of having someone - anyone, even someone he's known and trusted for over two years now - come to his house and stay here while we, his beloved parents went where he was not. And while some of you may think that he should just suck it up, I decided that this is all one with the pre-five stage, including the crippling shyness he's been exhibiting at parties lately (hiding not just behind my back hanging onto my cardigan, but periodically under it; crawling beneath the table instead of walking around it to get to the bowl of chips on the other side without being looked at by anyone; cowering behind his arm if anyone should point a camera in his direction), so I thought I'd give him a pass and arranged for him to go play at a friend's house for the duration. It made him happy, it meant I could relax, and I didn't feel like it was so much of an imposition as sending both of them to a friend. Economically it made no difference, and, most importantly, we got to initiate the use of a babysitter with the more people-friendly-aged Mabel so that when she's four-and-a-half she won't throw a wobbly about it.

In fact, Mabel had the time of her life. Three hours with the undivided attention of Miss P, whom she normally only sees in the hallowed region of Monkey's school, from which she is always given the bum's rush at dropoff and pickup. Three hours in which to show off, to delight, to entertain a totally captive audience, who would never just plonk her in front of Blues Clues or try to update Facebook instead of playing with her. Miss P was a bit bowled over, I think, by The Mabel Show.

At one point, Mabel was showing Miss P one of her babies, and Miss P asked if it was a boy or a girl.
"She's a baby." Mabel refuses to acknowledge that babies can be boys or girls as well as babies.
Miss P decided to investigate further.
"Do you think I'm a boy or a girl, Mabel?"
Mabel had to think about that one, because she's not used to grown-ups being referred to as boys or girls. Also, Miss P has close cropped hair and a boyish figure. Eventually Mabel decided she was a boy. Miss P was amused.
They continued to plumb the depths of the 64-count box of Crayolas.
Then Mabel leaned in to Miss P and asked, in a whisper,
"Miss P, are you a lady?"

Miss P was tickled pink by this, as evidenced by the fact that she's told me the story several times now. I think partly she finds it so funny because she didn't expect Mabel to say "lady".

Which brings me to my discussion point for the evening. Maybe it's a cultural thing, but somehow calling someone a woman to their face sounds a bit rude to me. A bit, well, biological, perhaps. I mean, we all know that small children are wont to describe total strangers, out loud, in their hearing. And not just with the classic "Why is that man so fat, Mommy?" My kids both started early on pointing out people in the supermarket or on the street, and just as an only-just-older toddler will announce "Baby" when they see a smaller one, my two would also announce "Man" while pointing blatantly at the person right behind us. And they needed a word for the other sort of person, and somehow I didn't want them saying "Woman" about random females to their faces, so the word I chose to give them was "lady". That way I can converse with them about the nice lady in question without feeling appallingly rude.

But am I being rude by doing just that? Does this make me a bad feminist or something? I know some people have a problem with being called "lady", but as far as I'm concerned it's just a politer, fancier maybe, way of saying woman. Like saying "ma'am". I suspect it's in large part geographical, so maybe it sounds perfectly normal in Ireland but peculiar in the US. Miss P is from Tanzania (I think), so I really don't know what the appropriate word would be to her.

Care to weigh in with an opinion? What do your kids say when they talk about the woman behind you in line at the post office? And can you ever show your face there again?