Do you ever get tired of those treacly emails waxing poetic about the unrelenting joys of motherhood? Honestly, I truly love my kids and I love being their mom. But parenting is not 24/7 fun and games, right? Which is why those emails are so annoying and cloying. I've come up with my own alternative reflections on this stage of life.
-- You and What Army. My seven year old daughter --- also known as La Principessa --- is determined, independent and curious with a killer sense of humor. On a good day. On a bad day, it's more like stubborn, mischievous and dare-devilish with a killer sense of humor, mostly at my expense. She's facing many challenges, both medical and developmental. But she's got no problem with having enough fire in the belly. Combine her indomitable spirit with her teenage brother, who reeks of teen spirit, and some days are no day at the beach.
-- Mom's Pooped. La Principessa's toilet training was a special adventure. Despite her success, I have yet to recover from the night she pooped in her hand, laughed maniacally and tossed it to me softball-style. La Principessa knew for some time exactly HOW to use a toilet properly, she just didn't see the need to. Why should she miss out on a round of Mom's famous Hot Potato Turd Dance? Better than Dance Dance Revolution.
-- Human Paper Towel, Part 1. During a business meeting years ago, when Teen Spirit was a toddler, a colleague frantically signaled me with her eyes but I couldn't follow. I was absorbed in finishing my part of the presentation for our agency's Chairman and it wasn't until I reached up to touch my forehead that I noticed the giant wad of hair that was waving stiffly out from the side of my head. Said hair had been shellacked in chocolate icing from the daycare center birthday party I had just attended. Seriously, it was like Flock of Seagulls meets the Ace of Cakes.
-- Human Paper Towel, Part 2. The tradition continues: La Principessa runs from the swings, smiling -- seemingly in a joyful slow motion advertisement of the Perfect Mom Moment. She flings herself in my arms and I am thrilled. But then figure out I've been punked. She enjoys the Crunk-a-palooza that breaks out after I realize that, while pretending to hug me, she's blown her nose on the tail of my shirt.
-- Bring in Da Funk. Teen Spirit's "football bag" will never be the same again. The preternatural zombie funk still wafts through the house, even though the offending backpack has taken two trips through the washer. There ain't enough Febreze in the world to help. It was only in the car for an hour but the damage is done --- we'll need a new van.
-- It's a Sign. It took years to convince La Principessa that American Sign Language was worth her effort. Why sign "drink" when you can just clink the ice in your sippy cup and the Beverage Wench will come running? I'm no sign language expert so maybe it's just me. But I'd swear she learned most of her favorite signs from Tony Soprano.