Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Almost, But Not Quite, the Meanest Mom Ever

Last night I got involved in yet another tussle with Demigoddess the Younger regarding bathing. It was late. She needed a bath. She said she’d take one tomorrow. I noted that she had said the same thing the night before, and hadn’t managed to take one yet. I also observed that she had become a little… aromatic.

I didn’t say it in a shaming way. I was very nice about it. I said it like you’d tell someone they had spinach in their teeth, or the tag was hanging out the back of their shirt. I was trying to save her from possible future embarrassment.

Still, she got defensive.

“You act like I NEVER take a bath,” she said.

“Well, you don’t, unless I bug you about it.”

“You act like I HATE taking baths!”

“If you enjoyed bathing so much, I wouldn’t have to point out the fact that your armpits are a little stinky.”


Then she went and got a towel and some pajamas and stomped toward the bathroom because she was going to SHOW ME.

Through the door I could hear her in there, sighing and splashing and stomping her feet. Stomping her feet in the tub.

I am so mean that I actually make her bathe when she smells bad. Call child protective services. Clearly, I am unfit.

So I turned out the light in my bedroom and tried to be asleep by the time she got out of the tub, because I didn’t particularly want to discuss the issue any more (not to mention the fact that I was weary because I had spent three hours that evening shopping for HER BIRTHDAY PRESENTS). I was not quite there yet when I heard her come out of the bathroom. She paused outside my door. Then the door opened slowly, and, after a moment, in a perfect stage whisper, I heard through the darkness...


(And she isn’t even a teenager yet. I weep for my future with this child.)

Ten minutes later the door opened again. I rolled over as she was taping a piece of paper to the headboard of my bed.

"What is that?" I asked.

"A note."

"Well, let me see."

Written with fruity-scented ink was this.

Apparently I had been forgiven.

“Come here and let me smell you,” I said. So she sat down on the bed, and I pulled her close and loudly sniffed her wet hair.

She smelled like cucumber melon body wash.


Meghan said...

Oh My God Where did that child come from?

Just when you want to kill her she makes you laugh with something cockamamie like that. I love that kid...

Lin said...

I think it would be mighty hard not to love a kid like that. As mothers we all remember (somewhat fainter for we uber-grownups) how awkward and difficult it was when we had one flip-flop in childhood and one in the future. She's doing a good job at reminding you just where she is!

Jessie said...

omg, r u meen 2 hr?

Katie the Amazing said...

Demigodess the younger,

that is the most desperate attempt to make your mother regret a post EVER! I know it's you "Jessie"

EverydaySuperGoddess said...

Yes, Jessie. I am very, VERY mean to her.

Us moms, we're an eeeee-vil breed. Mean to the core.

We only pretend to like our children so they will do the dishes and the laundry.

Melanie Lynne Hauser said...

I just found this blog - you're so funny! I love the note. Yes, you're right, we mothers are merely evil robots put on earth to make our children's lives miserable!

I'm going to link to you, OK?

Marigoldie said...

That is a beautiful story. It really is.

I like your blog...I'll be back!