Momnesia

Son of a Beach...

Emmie's been gone to the beach for three days, and I've already called seven times - not to mention the texts I've sent my sister. She won't be back for two weeks, and I'm losing my mind. I managed to wait until noon on the fourth day to call - a record so far.

"How you doing, Doodle?" I coo.

"Good."

"How was the beach?"

"It wuz not good. I got a sunburn. An' de wabes be rude to me. Dey make me fratch my leg!" she answers, indignant.

"The waves... were rude? To you?"

"Yes! Dey smash me an' push me an' den da sand come up and mate my leg go on my uvver leg, and den it fratch me."

My sister fumbles the phone and then explains, lest I think my child more injured than irritated: "When the tide was coming in, the waves got a little rough. They kept knocking her down and she took it kind of personal."

I cackle. Oh, yeah. That sounds like Emerson. This is the girl who famously told me that she was not going to ride the Batman ride at Six Flags, and I couldn't make her, because "Iss my world, mama. You juss' lib in it."

She picked that up from me, joking around with her, and took it seriously. I don't make that joke anymore, but I think the attitude might have stuck.