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Friday, January 28, 2011

Owned, by my child

Friday, January 28, 2011 By

Emmie left my bedroom to go to the bathroom... and returned 47 seconds later to fling her body onto the bed. I was busy reading a travel story in the New York Times, so I hardly glanced up at her mini-tantrum.

"MeenameenaMeenameenaMEENAmeena!" she whined, and flailed her arms.

Um, okay...

"What's up, Doodle?"

"BeeemaneemabmeeemaneemaBEEENAMEENA!" she shrieked.

"Yeah... I don't know what that means."


"Okay. So, what's stopping you?"

"It's daaaaaaark!"

She's developed a fairly paralyzing fear of the dark lately. I don't want to make the fear too convenient, so I don't jump whenever she freaks out. Plus, I was really enjoying that story.

"Okay, give me a minute to finish this article."

And then I promptly forgot that she even existed.

Ten minutes later, as I finish the story, I look up to see her watching me, patiently. Mentally, I am still navigating the high steppes of the Andes and am overcome with wanderlust.

"Hey, Doodle, if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?" I ask.

"To da bafroom - like, right now," she deadpans.

She knew I'd forgotten about her. She was reminding me, with wry humor and laser-like precision, that she was being dutifully patient. I laugh so hard I almost throw up.

"Come on, Doodle." I pick up my sweet girl and carry her to the bathroom.

She kisses my cheek: "Fanks, Mom."

"You're welcome."


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