Last night I attempted to enter my daughter’s bedroom to help her dress for our evening out. Just one step in the door and I stubbed my toe on a rock. My fairy farm princess collects rocks, but only ones that shine. Take note future suitors.
Then I tripped over the cord to her karaoke machine, stepped on a Barbie in my fall to her bed which was covered in clothes, both hers and her doll’s.
Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes, did a quick count to 10 and growled, “Nat-a-lie!”
“I know, I know,” she sighed completely exasperated and not the least bit surprised by my entrance. “Clean my room.”
She rolled her eyes, which of course, at day’s end causes this mom to lose her white-knuckled grip on patience.
As I launched into my standard rant about keeping a room picked up, clothes put away, blah, blah, blah . . . my brain actually took me elsewhere.
How can this be my daughter? I thrive in bringing order to chaos. I live by lists and take great joy in blacking out what has been accomplished. My days are fairly routine and spontaneity – well it freaks me out to be honest. So, how did this little spit-fire come to be, from my genes, raised in this somewhat ordered house with Type A personalities (my husband, my son and I are all stereo-typical first children.)?
My rant ended and I exited her room in a huff with a final, “Clean up! You are . . .”
She interrupted with a smirk and a wink, “Yes, yes. I know. I’m unbelievable!”
Unbelievable. I must use that word a lot and in a context that is less than positive if referring to her room. Yet, my fairy farm princess, displaying wisdom beyond her years chose a new context.
I usually say my daughter makes me crazy, but today I know my daughter makes me a better mom because she is unbelievable!