I get the honor of introducing my dear friend Lori. She is an extremely patient person with an adorable almost perfect 5-year-old. Don’t be jealous she gets to surround herself with books for her day job working at Paperbacks Galore https://www.facebook.com/paperbacks.galore/. Not only is she a phenomenal writer but she is a talented crochet artist running her own charming online store. If you haven’t checked it out yet, you should https://www.etsy.com/shop/LostMyHook . You can follow Lori on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/Lost-My-Hook-Crochet-Shop-157201841567261/ and Twitter https://twitter.com/HookLost . If you’re one of the lucky ones to observe her out in her natural environment (any coffee shop), say hello. She is one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. Especially if you buy her a coffee.
I considered myself a winner in the child lottery when the terrible two’s were mild. I breathed a sigh of relief when the independent three’s went by with minimal “I do it”s. The four’s weren’t too bad either. Then came the five’s.
Apparently, my Stepford child is a master of strategy. She’s been playing the long game this whole time, just waiting for the right moment to assert her independence. That time happened to be when we are already running late for school – again. (You’d think that by the end of the year, we’d have this thing figured out, but the closer it gets to June, the later we make it out the door.) Forget September’s homemade breakfast that offers most of the four food groups, now I’m tossing frozen boxed waffles on her plate.
It’s a cool, cloudy May morning, but we are expecting it to burn off to be a sunny afternoon. (Here in the Pacific Northwest, we consider any mostly sunny day to be a blessed event.) I’m rushing around, late as usual, and toss her clothes at her: a school T-shirt and black pants – already pre-approved by the little dictator herself. Coming back to prod her to brush her teeth, I find her bedroom door closed. A sure sign that something has gone awry. “We have to go. We’re late. Brush your teeth.” (My daily morning mantra.)
“In a minute. I’m almost ready,” comes her muffled little girl voice from behind the door. My blood pressure rises when I see her school spirit day clothes on the floor outside her bedroom. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I know it is not going to end well for me.
She comes out dressed in not one, but two layers of boys’ long black thermal underwear. (For the minuscule amount of snow days we get around here, I wasn’t paying $2 more for pink.) She has inherited her dad’s penchant for logic, but today she’s more Kirk than Spock. The fact that there is no possibility of snow has no effect on her. She’s cold. This is what she’s wearing.
And she did. I had no time and zero energy for that battle. Can you tell it’s the end of the year? It’s true, teachers aren’t the only ones going crazy. Oh, and I’m pretty sure we skipped brushing teeth that morning too. (Don’t tell the dentist.)…..