“I hate the world today!” Master Six said, scrunching his nose and treating me to a dark, brooding stare.
“Alrighty, that didn’t take much.”
Seriously, if putting on socks represented my greatest adversities, I’d take it in a flash. I tried not to smile, I really did, but when his rosebud lips began to curl my way, I failed miserably.
He has a thing for bums.
That wasn’t a typo. Yep, the littlest man of the house has had a thing for the “butt” ever since he could walk and talk. I’m not sure why. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened to erm… nurture this odd idiosyncrasy of his. Yet, he has this habit of dishing out a light paddle on behinds every now and then as he passes by. Namely, mine. Actually, only mine.
I’ve never seen him try it on his father. I’m thinking because my butt is much more padded than his dad’s – which by the way, wouldn’t take a whole lot to achieve. My husband has one of those behinds you can’t see. Oh, you know it’s there; it has to be – my senses remind me it exists more often than I’d like. It just seems to become swallowed in his clothes.
In my house, it isn’t unusual to spot me randomly break out in my version of a booty dance while slapping my ass and crooning some of the lyrics to Baby Got Back. Well, the only part of the song I remember – “I like big butts and I cannot lie; You other brothers can’t deny.” Okay, I admit, it doesn’t sound like a very mothery thing to do; swinging my hips and wriggling my behind at my children, but they laugh every time. I just hope they don’t go searching up that song on YouTube any time soon.
Songs can be a good alternative to express ourselves sometimes. For instance, when I hear the words “but it’s not fair” flung from one of my kid’s mouths, I walk away singing The Rolling Stones classic “You can’t always get what you want”. It’s pretty self-explanatory. I tend to not elaborate after that, and they tend to not push the matter.
Unless we’re in teenage territory, which is another ball game altogether. Her current song is Teenage Dirtbag. I know, it’s not so adventurous, but if you could see some of the looks this princess saves just for me, you’d understand. I swear, I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m clueless. You know, adults, like, seriously have no idea about, like, anything. Especially when they croon those annoying words “I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby” in your face, and don’t understand why spending ridiculous amounts of money on acrylic nails is so important.
She doesn’t laugh at my booty dance, by the way. No. She eye rolls and fluffs away into her cave where she spends an extraordinary amount of time on the crucial stuff – lying in bed and getting her social on. Those hours are paying off because the other day she showed us just how skillful she could be with her iPhone. She has cultivated the ability to blind-text. That’s right, I watched as she watched me while her long, painted talons flew over the phone keypad as she produced a perfectly formed text message. It was oddly impressive. Until she told me it was the trick she uses in class.
“I can look right at the teacher and talk to her while texting beneath my desk, mum,” she said, laughing.
What do you say to that when you know, given half the chance, it was something you would’ve done too? Of course, I didn’t tell her as much. I managed to say the expected “motherly” things which do actually occur around here at times. It was promptly met with a smirk and a casual shrug before she pranced back into the den for more essential activities.
I took her shopping for her birthday recently. This is something for me because I hate shopping and she loves it. My dislike for shopping isn’t just limited to the mall. I hate all kinds of shopping. The mall, however, makes me feel giddy and light-headed after a while. Like I can’t breathe. The food halls are the worst. Argh! Just the thought of being in that environment makes my skin crawl. All those people making noise and shuffling around the various food outlets before sitting down together to shovel it in their mouths … no thanks. I’ll pick up something to eat elsewhere and pray the kids have forgotten about McDonald’s.
As if that will ever happen. Gross. Why do kids love that shit?
Teenage princess wanted her nose pierced for her birthday. After pretending to think about it for a few days, I decided to oblige and allow her to get a small shiny stud on one nostril. So, we went to the body-piercing shop and I watched as she braved the needle. Okay, I didn’t really watch, I just stood at the threshold and gazed at the pictures on the walls while trying to appear supportive. I’m not into watching needles plunge into skin. I don’t even watch when I get poked for blood tests.
It was over in a jiffy and without so much as a squeak from her. It looked kind of cute, too. Hmmm … then came the lightbulb moment. I’m someone that tends to experience these spur-of-the-moment decisions from time to time. I don’t always overthink everything. When I got my first tattoo, I had decided then and there and did it before I could procrastinate. Something similar happened that day when out with my daughter – I walked out of that mall with a brand-new sparkle adorning my left nostril. I, however, yelped during the process. Yep, turns out my teenage dirtbag is tougher than me.
For one glorious moment, I wasn’t a clueless mother. I might’ve even been cool. My cool lasted for less than a week, though, because although I liked my little nose-stud, my subconscious mind rejected it. I ended up tearing it out during my sleep a few nights later and that hurt like hell.
“Go get it done again, mum,” she said.
“But it looked so cute on you.” Blink, blink.
Yeah, I’ll take the clueless mother tag and keep singing, sunshine.