Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Drama For Mama

A staple of my morning routine with the girls recently has been Violet refusing to get dressed without my help and then losing the ability to walk without screaming on her tiptoes that her feet hurt. She’s gunning for the good old baby days, wanting me to carry her. At 8:15 a.m. or so, you can often find Violet sitting in our front doorway, arms crossed, while I stand in the courtyard below, arms crossed. Violet’s bottom lip sticks out a little farther with each empty threat I toss up at her, until I finally walk back up the stairs to pick her up and carry her to the car, chewing her out the whole way. It’s part of our Hurry, We’re Running Late Morning Show we put on right here at the apartments.



Drama isn’t just for morning. When Daisy returned from school this afternoon, she tried to change into a pair of shorts but found she had outgrown the only pair I had for her. That kid is my magic beanstalk with her growth these days. She fell apart, crying and shouting about how she just wanted to wear shorts. It was really hot, which is why I suggested a skirt. My suggestion wasn’t taken too kindly, “MOM! Do you even know that people tell me I’m showing them MY UNDERWEAR?! AT OTHER PEOPLE’S HOUSES?! ALL BECAUSE OF THE STUPID SKIRT YOU THINK I SHOULD WEAR! HUH, MOM? DO YOU EVEN CARE?” After about five minutes of that, we were both on timeouts.



But don’t let a meltdown ruin your evening or anything. On the way to Daisy’s counseling appointment about a half hour later, I suggested that she might want to talk to her worry doctor about getting so upset about the shorts. She corrected me, calm yet condescending, “It’s just clothes. I’m sure . . . why would someone be worried about clothes?” Well, you seemed pretty upset about it. “No, the worry doctor doesn’t want to hear about that.” Yeah, she’s not the only one.



With Daisy’s beanstalk growth, her humor has also jumped about a dog year in sophistication. We made our long-awaited beanbag purchase today, and the kids were set on fire engine red. I wasn’t sure about how that would look in our living room but commented to Daisy that I liked the red more than I thought. Daisy was deadpan smartass, “Yes, it’s magical, Mom.” Thank goddess for laughing together.



 

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