Dancing Without Rhythm

Dear Avee,

I love you. More than you can comprehend. There's never a second in the day when I love you any less. In fact, if anything, I love you more everyday. Yes, I know, it's cliché--give your mom a break, you'll understand someday. I hope. And I hope you "understand" from a daughter. Just like you. Because there needs to be some retribution here and that's the best I can come up with.

When I was a little girl and did harmless "naughty" things like putting a burning match in our trash can and walking away, or leaving a wool blanket (aka, fort) resting on a lightbulb and again, walking away, or sneaking Twinkies by the shirt load into my room from the neighborhood Hostess delivery man's house, or use swear words I didn't know the meaning (but apparently right context) of, or not coming in when I was called, or lying about whether I had practiced the piano or not or....what a minute, this isn't about me, it's about you! Anyway, when these kinds of things occured, my mom would warn me, "when you grow up and have kids, they will behave just the way you behave". I really took that warning to heart and tried to clean up my act. I would eliminate pyromaniacal behaviors and stop using a few unknown swear words, for days on end. I wanted good kids. I was sure I would have good kids based on my efforts.

You my sweet daughter, are here to make me repent of ALL my sins. As a young child, I just thought if I eliminated a particular naughty behavior, I saved myself from my future child repeating the same behavior. What I didn't understand at that young age was that my behavior in general was driving my mother barmy. And while you can't light matches or smuggle Twinkies, or even know what they are---you are perfectly capable of making me crazy. I see now, that you are the living proof of my mom's warnings.

Why though? Why!? Can't we just be friends? My mom has forgiven me for my youthful indescretions. And yes, I'll forgive you, I already have---but maybe we could just skip that part all together.

I don't know if my nerves can handle one more day of incessant whining and yelling. Even when you are happy, you yell. I don't get that. We don't talk like that around here, where did you learn that getting milk was grounds for screaming like an ape on crack? I don't even like milk, so it sure as beans wasn't me.

And FYI, servitude to your poopy diapers and nutritional needs (in no particular order) is not a sign of weakness. I do it because I have to and because you can't. I know you think it's because you won't and because you are the boss of me, but it's because you can't. Your brother won't play with you if I don't. And you start screaming like the aforemention ape when I don't feed you---so please don't mistake this as weakness on my part. Yes you are smart, but I can construct complex sentences. You probably have more complex thoughts than me already, but at least until you can do what I can do with words, we'll have to agree to disagree on who has the upper hand in this relationship.

While your climbing abilities are extraordinary and draw comments from anyone who sees you, really, it's just annoying at this point. I know your quads are ripped and your biceps are beastly, but sometimes I just want to sit in peace at the computer without my left arm being yanked from its socket while you grunt and squeal your way to my shoulder. To perch. Uninvited. And dipping your head down and planting an open mouthed kiss on my face is adorable, but couldn't you just wait to be invited?

The street? It's a no-no. It will always be a no-no. I'm 31 and I don't play in the street. It's just not safe. And when you try to, and then run from me when I come to retrieve you, I will be mad. And I'll probably take you inside and make you stay inside until such behaviors desist.Potatos? Yes, I know they are on the pantry floor within reach, but that doesn't make them good. That brown stuff on the outside of them? It's dirt. Yes, I know you like to try dirt everytime you see it, but you never like it. Just try sometime NOT trying it and see how that works for you. In the meantime, leave my potatos alone. I'm not so in love with them, but I do love not having a bite taken out of all of them with said bites spit all over the floor.
Stick with red grapes. They're a no-fail.

I know it sounds like all I'm doing is complaining about you. I think it's because your dad has been gone all week, we miss him, you might be teething (by the way, if you do in fact end up in kindergarten having only gotten 5 teeth, do not blame me, I come from a LONG line of good teethers), and well, I'm weary from being enslaved by your demands combined with your unnatural capabilities, compounded by some natural limitations.

For the record, they way you pat your brother's back when he's upset and I'm comforting him, is incredibly endearing. And how you can book it through the house to the kitchen when I ask you if you want some milk---makes me laugh every time. And your babble melts my heart. Even when it's tattling on an inanimate object that hurt you. Your love affair with the carton of eggs whenever I open the refrigerator? Strangely adorable. How you blow on whatever food I put in front of you, even ice cream---precious. Your penchant for wanting to be held at the most inconvenient times, both tender and annoying.

I love you so much sometimes it hurts. It's a different kind of hurt from what your yelling does to my ears. Or untrimmed nails do to the back of my arm. It's a desire for the best for you always. It's a desire that your big brother will break out into song "Avee Suuuuuuue I love you. Avee Suuuuuuuue we love you" your entire childhood. It's a desire to bottle up your personality and sell it because you have enough to go around. It's a desire to not overlook the sweetness you have and the inexplicable way you fill my heart to overflowing when you smile. It's a desire that we will survive each other.

Yours, ever so truly,
Mama Llama
P.s. Thank you for always being such a good sleeper. It's a saving grace. Oh, and thanks for cleaning up my bathroom counter. I really wanted to get that email sent to your aunt and I was sure you were causing all sorts of havoc on my counter since I CAN'T KEEP YOU OFF. Imagine my surprise to find everything neatly stacked in the corner and you sitting pristinely with your toothbrush and toothpaste, waiting for me to dispense. You and your brother must get your OC cleaning tendencies from your dad. xxoo

Posted by Angela on Thursday, August 03, 2006 at 8/03/2006 | Permalink