My husband came rushing into the family room. “What happened? Is everyone OK”

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?” (wasn’t it nice of me to look up from my laptop and reply?).

“The band-aid droppings… surely someone severed a limb.” he replied (band-aid droppings? as if a herd of roaming band-aids took a short cut through our house and defecated in the guest powder room).

I had to assure him that I closely examined all the imaginary injuries sustained by the toddler child, our little evil manipulator, and that she was quite fine. Swimmingly so. She just happens to like band-aids.

But that’s typical M.O. for a toddler, isn’t it? I mean, she had her first show and tell at pre-school last week. She took a seashell acquired in June on her first visit to the ocean. Her father carefully wrapped it in a soft cloth to keep it from breaking. Ends up, according to her teacher, that she showed the cloth to everyone and didn’t want to share the shell. Go figure.

And her new thing is attempting to cuss. She’s just not very good at it. It’s probably our fault – we just don’t cuss around her enough (I’ll work on doing better at that). So when her sister was doing something she didn’t like, we overheard her say “Sarah! Your choice is damn and stupid!”

The last toddler issue this weekend was the blanket issue. We found her precious blanky out in the yard. It was in sad, sad shape… had been abandoned on the playset weeks ago. We had all but given up hope of finding it. Fortunately, I was so freaking smart that earlier this year I found an identical one on eBay. She has grudgingly accepted the imposter, but was overjoyed when we found the real Precious. I’ve washed it 4 times today, pre-treated, soaked it in hot water, used bleach. I still haven’t gotten it clean. ALL YOU NEW MOTHERS OR MOTHERS-TO-BE – I know how much you hate advice, but can I please just tell you this? If your child attaches to some blanket or doll or animal, go out and buy a dozen of them! If I can’t get the original one clean, I’ll just have to wash the imposter a hundred times to make it softer. Then I’ll have to go out again and find an imposter for the imposter, just so’s we always have a back up.

Enough about the kids… the one I really need to talk about is the husband, but I shall save that rant for another day. Suffice it to say, I was so frustrated with him today it literally made my head explode.

Good thing we had plenty of band-aids.

I’m not kidding. It’s only one word, but she definitely sounds like a little Russian kid when she says it. She’s serious as can be. There is a head-nod that accompanies it and everything.

Rae, want some banana?

Da.

Let’s go into the family room, ok?

Da.

YOU think mommy is beautiful and all knowing, don’t you?

Da.

Don’t tell your sisters, but you’re my favorite.

I figure I got a few more years of being her everything, the all-knowing and all-powerful MOMMY. After that, the fall from grace is swift and painful. Generally, it’s the kindergarten teacher who first replaces Mommy in that regard.

It won’t be long. I’ll say something like “Better be careful or your face will FREEZE like that. Yeah, it happened to a kid in my neighborhood. She stuck her tongue out at her mommy and was NEVER EVER able to put it back in again! Can you believe it?”

And she’ll give me the look, pure disdain, unbridled superiority. And she’ll say “Well, Mrs. Mercer said THAT’S NOT TRUE and that our faces can’t freeze just ’cause we do a mean face.”

And I’ll have to say “Well, Mrs. Mercer doesn’t know EVERYTHING.”

Brick wall, water fall,
Mercer thinks she’s got it all
BUT SHE DON’T.
So BOOM with that attitude.
Peace, punch, Captain Crunch.
I got something you can’t touch.
Bang bang choo-choo train,
Wind me up I’ll do my thang.
Reece’s pieces, Seven-Up,
Mess with me I’ll mess you up!“

Damn kindergarten teachers displacing the all-knowing mommies.

I know it happens. I’ve lived through it more than once already. So for now, I’ll just keep asking the questions…

Will you pay for your own college?

Da.

Will you drive Mommy to Bingo on Wednesdays when you’re 16 and get you driver’s license? (surely I’ll be playing Bingo by then, right?)

Da.

What about bunions. Are you willing to help with your old mom’s bunions when the time comes?

Da.

And if I start watching Lawrence Welk reruns? You’ll sit with me and smile and pretend to enjoy it?

Da.

God, I love the little monkey… she’s pure sunshine, all smiles. She climbs everything and when I try to hold her she throws herself backward so she can hang upside down like a bat. When she’s tried, she rubs her eyes and then willingly goes down in her crib clinging tightly to her little blanky. She eats anything she gets her hands on (including acorns or carpet fuzz, unfortunately).

I’ve had five of them. Daughters, I mean. They’ve come in all varieties… ornery, clingy, stubborn, dramatic. Some have slept like angels and others were able to party like rock stars into the wee hours. Sometimes the 2s were terrible and other times not so much. Some were easily ported into restaurants and stores while others (ok, just the ONE) had us hunkered down at home lest we deal with her public outbursts wherever we went.

I have to say, I kind of like ending this childbearing deal on such a positive note. It’s like Rae came out and said “Oh, gosh, they gave me to an old one. This chick must be nearing 40. I’d better go easy on her…”

Can you tell how much I love my Raena Hunter?

Go ahead, say it…

Da!