It was Friday, February 28, 2014…I had big plans for the day.
It began with 2 speech therapies in the morning, followed by a small snack session with Cecilia and a nap for her. Abby and Phoebe were both at school and I was planning on finishing up the living room (painting that is). I am on a roll. So far this month I have painted our striped hallway, our kitchen ad now as of last night our living room. I was ready. I had my music out, my favorite song was playing, I had changed into my “painting clothes”, I had the drop clothes laid out, the paint stirred and poured into the proper containers and all of my brushes/rollers ready to go. And then…I checked my phone. Phoebe’s pre-school called with a slight emergency.
Her teacher set a bowl of glitter in the center of the table and while she was turned away, Phoebe (of course) blew into the bowl…blowing the glitter all over herself and the table. The teacher was concerned because she had glitter on the edge of her eyelashes and on the edge of being in her eye. They were concerned and couldn’t seem to get it out, telling me I needed to come and try to remove them myself. Once there, I realized what they meant. Only a mother would want to spit on her finger and stick it into the inner edge of her child’s eye in order to remove specks of glitter.
Once removed I gave her the option to stay and play with her friends or come home with me. Oddly enough she chose to come home. Painting the living room was further and further from my reality. We (Phoebe and I) decided to have lunch at her favorite place, Panera Bread. She ordered her usual and begged for a cookie…such a cute glitter-free face…how could I say no???
After lunch, we picked up Abby from school and she wasn’t in the car for a full minute when she discovered the cookie package. Immediately she began scouring through my purse trying to locate the other cookie. “Surely mommy would get me a cookie too”.
When I told her I didn’t have a cookie, she mimed, “zipping her lip, locking her lips, throwing away the key and stomped on the floor of my car…and then came the scowl.” Oh that scowl!
Abby is only 7. If she’s zipping her lips, locking up the key and throwing it away…AND stomping on it at 7, what should I expect for her teenage years. I must admit, I am a little worried! In all fairness, I didn’t remember to get her a cookie. I guess I deserved that sass.
I learned my lesson! Cookies for everyone!
…and I am on my way to buy a new resource book about what it’s like to raise a teenage girl…