This is what little girls are made of: sugar and spice and everything nice.
So says a nursery rhyme that I recall from my childhood, when there were less taboos about political correctness and something like that could be published without fear of backlash from feminist protesters.
But let me ask you this?
Would sugar and spice throw a plastic hamster (who knew it could be used as a weapon?) at your head and order you to "Get out and stay out" when you try to wake her up in the morning??
She's not a morning person, I figure.
Honestly, I'm kind of scared of her.
And the really scary thing is-
she's only six.
So I finally roused my sleeping princess at quarter after 8, after about an hour of trying.
"Hurry up," I told her. "We have to go in ten minutes." (Which was actually twenty, but I say ten in the hope that she might be motivated to budge from her perch on the top bunk, with her pillow held firmly over her head.)
I gave her her clothes, nervous to see what she would say about them.
But she didn't say anything. She just took them wordlessly.
Relieved, I left the room to give her some privacy to change.
I returned five minutes later to check on her progress.
She had one sock half on.
"Payton! You have to HURRY" I told her, now on the verge of hysteria.
And then she flung herself to the ground, collapsing into a puddle.
"You YELLED AT ME!" she said, crying. Her words quickly became unintelligible.
"Oh for God's sake," I said, leaving the room.
I passed my husband in the hallway.
"She is going to bed EARLY tonight!"
My husband nodded. But we've had this conversation before. Every day.
That early bed time?
Anyways, by the time I get to work at nine o'clock, honestly, I'm already spent.
And then I have to work eight hours.
I'm very tired, my stress is high and my energy is low.
At work the first thing I saw was a poster that said "Tips for dealing with stress:"
So I read it earnestly.
(I love the word "earnestly" and it's really very sad, because so few opportunities come up to use it. So when I do get to use it, I get really excited about that.)
Anyways the tips were crap.
"Talk about it" "Laugh about it" "Exercise" "Plan ahead" "Relax"
I do not know who designed that stupid poster.
Because I didn't see on there anywhere- binge drinking, drug overdose, or stabbing, which was really too bad.
So I tried to talk about it- but everyone at work was like 'Ohya. That's girls for ya. Just wait a few years."
And then an evil laugh.
I mean, where's the love? I'm still feeling like stabbing something.
And speaking of stabbing-
You would think that when you go to a hotel and you approach the front desk and you ask them for a knife and a stack of heavy duty paper towels that they might ask a bit more questions than "what kind of a knife?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said. "Something sharp."
"Okay," she said with a nod. "Sure thing."
So they went and got me this seriously scary looking knife and a big stack of napkins.
"Enjoy your stay," she said with a smile, and then I had to carry this knife all through the halls, and I felt more than a little conspicuous let me say, but people merely smiled and nodded, as though seeing a knife wielding woman in the hallway was pretty common.
Maybe it was.
What the hell kind of a hotel was I in, exactly??
And then I thought- I hope no one gets stabbed here in this hotel, and then they canvass all the rooms, and the people are like "come to think of it I did see someone walking around with a carving knife."
Anyways- all I needed it for was to cut my sons birthday cake, because we had forgotten to bring a knife with us. I mean, who thinks of bringing knives to a birthday party??
I felt the need to tell that to every person I passed, but then, as it turns out- no one is really that interested in entering into a dialogue with a person carrying a knife that looks like a prop from Night of the Living Dead.
writing makes me feel better.
Now I can breathe.
So thank you, dear reader.
And please tune in tomorrow where I will publish my post "Thirteen Things I Want to Tell My Thirteen Year Old Son."
Have a good day!!