Category Archives: Mommy Points

Lightning. Wishing stars. Whatever.

The other night, The Boss and I were driving home from my parents’ house.  There were several streaks of lightning flashing all over the sky and it was pretty awesome.

“Look, baby!  Did you see that lightning?  Isn’t that awesome?” said I.

“It’s not ly-ning, Mommy.  It’s a wishing star,” replied she.

“It does kind of look like wishing stars, but it’s actually lightning.  Because, you know, it’s raining.”

HUGE sigh from the backseat.  “Mommy.  It’s a wishing star.  It’s not ly-ning.  Do you understand me?  IT’S A WISHING STAR.”

“Well, okay.  I’m not going to argue with you.  If you say it’s a wishing star, then fine.”

And, you guys, I didn’t know what it was that I said or what the tone was, but something in that last statement just made her lose her ever-loving mind.

“MOMMY!  You are not listening to me and it’s making me angry!  Why don’t you listen to me when I am saying an important thing?  You are hurting my feelings!  Now I’m sad!  You need to say ‘sorry’ right now!  MOMMY!  Do you hear me?”

Frankly, I didn’t feel safe making any further comment to her, so I just kept my mouth shut.  Don’t engage, right?  This was not a wise decision on my part.  The diatribe continued the entire 10 minute drive to our house (reason # 76,379 why I’m glad I bought a home really close to my parents).  She didn’t let up.  I’m not sure she even paused long enough to take a breath (reason # 482 why I think she might actually be an alien lifeform).

Finally, we pulled up to our house and I turned off the car.  I turned around to look at her; a tiny little human with her arms crossed and her lower lip jutted out.

“Baby, I’m sorry that your feelings got hurt.  Can you tell me what I said that made you feel sad and angry?”

And I saw it on her face: she didn’t know.  She had no idea why she was so upset over my saying it was lightning.  But I knew, right at that moment.  It was a Mommy Epiphany.

She BELIEVED the lightning was truly wishing stars.  And she LOVES wishing stars; she loves anything to do with making wishes.  When I said “it’s actually lightning,” her four-year-old brain heard “You are wrong.  What you believe in is wrong.  What you love is wrong.”

No wonder she got mad.  I get mad when someone tells me that what I love and believe in are wrong.

We got out of the car and sat on the porch, watching the lightning/wishing stars and made our wishes.  I said my wishes aloud and she asked if they would come true then, because you aren’t supposed to say your wishes out loud.

“Well sugar, I think that when the wish is really important, it’s okay to say it out loud to someone you really love.  What do you think?”  She nodded and whispered her wishes.

(At the time, it was really sweet and sentimental, but reading it now, I’m like “Dude, get out of the Disney movie.”  Whatever.  I think I scored big Mommy Points.)

Cheers.

How To Cuddle – A Manual

My 4-year-old daughter, aka The Boss of Everyone, recently schooled me in the art of cuddling.

Now, I’m 38 years old.  I’ve done a fair amount of cuddling during my years on Earth.  Plus, I’ve been cuddling this particular person since the night she was removed from my womb.  You’d think I’d have it down to a science, wouldn’t you?

Well, you would be wrong.  The Boss said so.

At approximately 10:15 on a Saturday night, my lessons began.  I was almost asleep, adrift in that blissful haze that creeps over me when the melatonin kicks in.  The Boss was curled up next to me, in my bed (because she’s The Boss and she does what she wants, obviously), when suddenly her little crazy-haired head appeared directly in front of my face.

“Mommy.  Mommy.  Mom-MY.  I need to tell you something.  It’s very important.  MOMMY!”

“What.  Go to sleep.  It’s late.”

“You are not cuddling me right.  I don’t like where your arm is.  You need to fix it.”

I swear to God, it took everything I had to stop myself from saying: “Are you fucking for real?”  But I didn’t.  And I awarded myself Mommy Points for that.  She continued:

“You need to put your arm across my back.  But not there.  Over.  No, down.  No, I mean up.  Put your hand around my belly.  No, Mommy!  That tickles.  Oh Mommy, you’re such a silly goose.  Move my pillow over.  Don’t lay on my pillow.  Mommy.  You’re breathing on me.  Okay.  Good job, Mommy!  Now it’s perfect.”

And she fell right to sleep.  I, of course, was completely uncomfortable and lay mostly awake for the next few hours.  Why didn’t I move once she was asleep?  Come on.  You know better.  Don’t be daft.  If I moved, or even took a deep breath, she would stir and mumble “Stop moving, Mommy.  Don’t wake me up.”

Wanna hear my “silver lining” for this batshit crazy dictatorship in which I live?  SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE WANTS.  And she’s not shy about asking for it.  Yes!  I’m a good mother and I’m raising a strong girl!

Cheers.