Today was one of those Awesome-Not-Awesome days. I’m so bleery-eyed, sleep-deprived and cranky from this thing called “Motherhood Part Deux” that I can barely muster the energy to login and write this post. But…. I couldn’t resist sharing this tidbit from my day with you all … y’all (cuz this is going to be a classy post).
So… let me start with the Not Awesome. My days pretty much consist of fuss-jumping back and forth until the two fusses tap out at around 9 pm. Fuss-jumping? What the heck is that? I coined that term today to describe the process of jumping from one fussy child back to the other. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
Tie Noose. Load shotgun-
It wasn’t a pretty day for Noob Baby. First she chucked Cheetah at me (her favorite toy-slash-sidekick). She slammed a door at me (yes, door slamming is directional … right, ladies?). At one part of the day, there was a really accusatory finger pointed at me. All I know is that after one mega timeout and a threat of donating all her toys and worldly belongings, we finally sat down and signed our peace treaty. It went something like this:
Me: Are you ready to be a kind, respectful girl now?
NB: Yes, Mommy.
Me: And do you promise to not throw things at Mommy and slam doors or be disrespectful?
NB: Yes, Mommy. Never. Ever. (I love how kids that age think “never ever” is plausible.)
Me: Ok, let’s pinky-swear.
(We consummated the promise with the sacred pinky-swear ceremony … oh yeah, thumbs and all.)
Me: So, you understand what we talked about?
Me: ????????! (Cue deer-in-headlights look. Jaw hits the floor. Head is spinning a la Exorcist.)
NB: That’s what my teacher says to us at circle time.
- Why the hell didn’t I ever talk to my students like that? Oh wait, cuz I’m not that cool.
- See #1
- Is it legal to talk to 4 year olds like that??
- Freakin awesome.
- Is the teacher doing the wink-smoochy-mouth-chin-raise thing as she says, “Capice?”
- Can I pleasssse be there the next time twenty 4-year-olds respond in perfect harmony … CAPEESH!
Here I am doing stupid pinky-swears with NB, telling her how it’s the “real deal” since we sealed our promise and used our THUMBS FOR CHRISSAKE!!! What a tard I am. I should have just been speaking to her in FREAKIN ITALIAN!!! Except that Mommy’s not that cool and can’t speak a drop of Italian. In fact, I had to Google the word capeesh to find out its proper spelling – capisce.
But that’s ok. Because NB now has a summer school teacher who is so boss that she is teaching NB how to be like a boss. Nevermind getting her to write her lowercase letters. Screw all that. Just keep teaching her to speak (what I believe to be) mobster Italian. Or maybe it’s just regular Italian and I’m offending a whole race of people right now. In which case, mi scuso.
Either way, I’m going to go plant a big juicy kiss right on her teacher’s mug for making my firstborn so boss. Because … it’s what Italians do. Stereotypes upon stereotypes.
So that was the AWESOME part of my day. Now ya’ll can see why I had to post this story asap. CAPISCE?