Momnesia

Dance of Awesome = World Peace

My daughter is - like me - easily distractable. So the only way I have found that I can get her bootie dressed and ready for school on time in the mornings is... to race her. This has given rise to Many Insane Hair Days for me.

This morning, she was being unusually mouthy.

"MOOOMM!!" she shrieked, just a millisecond away from tears. "I can't get my SHOES on! An den I gon' be slow, and den you gon' WIN! An den I beed da LOSER!"

I lift my head from where I am blow-drying my hair upside-down in the vain, futile hope that I might trick it into not sucking today. She has on her shirt - backwards - and her jeans. But the shoes are a problem.

"Oh, reeaaaally?" I mimic a scheming villain. "Soooo, you want me to HELP you, so that I will LOSE? Hmmmm..."

She grins, continues to struggle with the shoes. I finish drying my hair, flip my head back, get dizzy and almost fall back into the shower.

She laughs hysterically.

"Oh, is that funny?" I grab the cardboard box of tissues and bonk myself repeatedly in the head. "How about that?"

She collapses on the floor, belly laughing. "Mama! Stop!"

"I'm not really hurting myself."

"No, you smasheend da box."

Thanks. Concern duly noted. I brush my hair while she straightens her shirt, then she looks down at her feet. Crud. She gives a big, limp-armed shoulder twitch and starts in again. "Mamaaaaaaa...! If you don' help me, I can't get my shoes on!"

I'm wriggling into my tights, and I only have two hands. Plus, the screeching is really starting to get on my nerves: "Seriously, Doodle, I'm going to smash myself in the head with the tissue box again, just because it's more fun than listening to you whine."

She glares at me.

"Will you chill out? Have I ever let you leave the house without shoes?"

"No..."

"That's not going to change this morning. Give me a sec and then I'll help you."

She relaxes, obviously relieved. "Danks, mama. But... mama, if you don' help me, I'm not goeen ta win."

"Mwahahahaha!" I laugh, evilly. "You have uncovered my plan!"

She stops keening and gives me A Look: "It dudden't madder, mama. Eben if you win, you still goeend be a loser."

Oh, snap.

"That's okay. Even if I lose, I'm still going to have all the awesome. See me? Repository of awesomeness. Right here. Check it out." I do a little dance. It is the awesome dance. El Baile de Awesome. Or so I tell myself.

She resists for a moment, but then begins to giggle and joins me. We dance the Dance of Awesome until we are breathless from laughing. And now running late. Dangit.

"Come on, Little Gaga. Let's get your shoes on and your hair combed."

"Okay, mama. But mama?"

"Yeah?"

"When I growed up, I wanna be awesome jus' like you."

 "Baby, you already are."