My mom always used to say, “I can’t wait until you have a daughter…”
This phrase was usually uttered after I had been a brat, a smart-mouth, or after I’d just pushed my mom to her wit’s end in general. Of course, my response would be non-verbal in the form of an eye-roll or silent “what-EV-er” in my head. I wasn’t a bad kid, but just a tad stubborn.
Today, I like to say I am “particular.” It sounds nicer. And now that I am a mom, my own mother’s wishes are coming true. You see, my three-year-old daughter is a precocious, soon-to-be “particular” little female as well.
We were decorating our house for the holidays not long ago when her character became ever-more-present. We were unloading the boxes of Christmas decorations from their plastic containers one by one. As we went, I carefully unrolled the wooden Santa’s, snowmen, candles and other knick knacks from their protective coverings. Sometimes the covering was newspaper. Other times, depending on how fragile the item, it was bubble wrap. Because of this meticulous packing and care for my things, I have had some upwards of 15 years. People may call me anal retentive. I call it “pride of ownership.”
When you don’t grow up with much, you take care of what you have. (We weren’t poor necessarily. But neither of my parents grew up extravagantly and always stressed that philosophy when my sister and I were young.) Today, I don’t take things for granted.
My meticulousness leads to stress, I’ll admit. And, when it came to decorating our house with my pre-schooler and toddler running around, instead of replicating Babes in Toyland it was more like having two bulls in a china shop.
But, God love ‘em… they just wanted to help. As I tried to let down my guard a bit, I pointed my daughter in the direction of some things she could help unwrap and place out around the house. Empty boxes and things we’d already unwrapped were to my left. Boxes that needed to be opened were on the right. I had an organize-as-we-go method.
Every so often I couldn’t help but say, “Honey, not that pile.” “Sweetie, be careful.” “Baby, that’s fragile.”
Until finally even my daughter couldn’t take my Type-A nonsense anymore and unloaded on me.
“MOMMY…STOP CON-CON-CON-TROLLING ME!” She stammered wagging her finger.
Holy crap I thought (shocked but trying to keep from laughing at the same time.)
“Where did you here that?” I asked her.
“From you,” she said matter-of-factly.
That little 25 lb. person put me in my place. And oh, what sweet justice my just mom got.
- Jessica Alba Unloads the Christmas Decorations! (justjared.buzznet.com)
- Make Handmade Christmas Wrapping Paper (kleenexmums.com.au)
- Nancy O’Dell: Daughter Ashby ‘Not a Fragile Flower’ (celebritybabies.people.com)