I’m sitting on the floor as Jenna paces around me, trying to get the boys to come up from the basement.
She yells for them to come up, they ignore her.
Then she has a great idea.
She whispers to me, “I’m pretending I’m you….”
Yells again:
“I’m momma!!, Come upstairs!”
Big smile on her face, this is definitely going to work.
Looks at me, leans over and whispers again:
“Don’t worry….you’re still you….”
Whew!
image from: abovethelaw.com
The oldest is fortunate enough to get my blogs posted to her wall on Facebook so she doesn’t even have to strain herself to find and read them. It’s my way of keeping her posted on the goings-on in the house, and in my head.
Somehow, somewhere along the way, she has designated herself to be my official critic. She is pretty harsh sometimes, and I find myself getting strangely frustrated when I see a 6/10 on a post that I thought was at least a solid 8. Feels like I’m back in my first writing class in college……
let’s be honest you’ll probably never gain enough self-control but I like the optimism, 6.5/10
I enjoy that you’ve accepted defeat, since you have 4 kids there’s no way you’ll ever win. and I love how mean Jenna is, she’s got spunk. I’ll give it an 8/10
I’ll give it an 9/10 because I like how passive aggressive you’re being with Gasan and I enjoy your sarcasm
aww this made me sad. you have a 10/10 forehead and you’ll still be hot when you’re all wrinkly :))
you’re a ho ho. I don’t like that you’re being healthy, it makes me feel like I should change my lifestyle and I’m not ready for that. 6/10 for unintentionally shaming me
I’m not going lie, I now find myself anticipating her judgment, and also find her awesomely sarcastic and amusing. I wonder if she thinks her personality is anything like mine??
Yesterday my oldest turned 18. I’ll save my emotions about that event for another blog.
Instead, I want to mention something kind of funny, sweet, unexpected.
I went to get her cake at a local grocery store, they have a GREAT fudge torte. Mmmmmmmmm, fudge torte……….
Anyway, this young kid was behind the cake counter, complete with hair net and goofy smile. He was probably around my daughters age, and seemed so comfortable with himself. And happy, the guy seemed really, really happy. Happy to help us and happy to tell me that he was NOT a professional cake decorator, but he would give it his best shot if I wanted him to write something on it.
“Can you write Happy Birthday?”
He wants to scratch his head, I can tell… he looks at the cake, concentrating.
“Ummmmm, I can maybe write Happy B-day?” He says this like an apology, and a question.
“How about just putting her name on it, R-A-C-H-E-L.”
This seems like a good compromise.
He gets to work, and I can tell he’s new at this job…it takes him a while to get the cake out of the display, to find the boxes, and the icing.
And he takes a while. I’m waiting, vaguely wondering how long it takes to write those 6 letters, but grateful that I left the 2 year old at home. So I relax, and wait.
He comes back over, wants to make sure of the spelling. Nods emphatically, and turns his back to me, and continues his work. I notice that he needs a hair cut, because I’m a mom.
Finally, he is done.
He comes over, cake in hand-but above my line of vision. He stands and smiles at me, ready to make a speech.
“To make up for not being able to write out ‘Happy Birthday’, I did a little art work for you instead”
His voice SOUNDS like a smiley face. And with a flourish, he presents me with….. the cake.
it’s an original.
He had doodled on our cake. And he was completely adorable, and so proud of himself. It made our fancy fudge torte into something so much more. He infused it with his sweet goofiness. I wanted to hug him, but thanked him instead.
And everyone loved it.
momsranting 