Living with Camille is a bit like setting off fireworks on the 4th of July. We ooh and ahh and are surprised by each beautiful bit that is revealed, left breathless by the variety that often exceeds even our best expectations. And then someone sets off the Piccolo Pete and we all run for cover until the screaming is over. (If you don’t know what a Piccolo Pete is then you are fortunate to have never been subjected to these ear piercing disappointments that are found at the bottom of a box of fireworks bought on the side of the road. They are my 4th of July nightmare. No sparkles, all ear splitting shrieking.)
She gets away with more than the boys ever did because we are both so freaking tired. Truth. These days I might threaten and actually count to three, whereas with the boys I would only say “One . . .” and then I was on the move. God forbid they weren’t jumping to attention before I could get the words out of my mouth. But old lady bones move more slowly and her will gets worn down. I’m a different kind of mom than I was back then. In some ways for better, in some ways for worse. The Middle Eastern “inshallah” (God willing, I can’t control anything) culture has even found it’s way into my parenting some days. However, since I don’t want girlie to grow up to be obnoxious and self centered, I’ve been making a conscious effort to direct her behavior a bit more strictly lately. It’s my gift to the world.
The other night we were watching the Survivor season finale on TV and when they revealed the winner, Camille was not impressed. “She sucks!”
In mom mode I said, “Baby, that’s not nice. We don’t say that. Don’t say it again.” So then of course, Bob pipes in with, “What did she say?”
“Hmm, if I said it wasn’t appropriate, why would I repeat it? It’s not worth talking about.”
Bob: “I just wanted to know–“
Camille pipes in loudly, with a hint of glee in her voice, “I said, SHE SUCKS!“
Exasperated, I gave a mini lecture about not obeying and told her to go upstairs until she could come back and apologize and follow directions. She stomped off upstairs to her room and Caleb and I went back to watching Survivor. To Camille’s credit, Michelle did suck, but it sounds particularly dirty coming out of a 5 year old’s mouth and I can’t have her thinking she can go around telling everyone exactly what she thinks about them. Real life example: this past week we were at Calvin’s sports awards ceremony at school and they were announcing and giving awards to all the varsity athletes. They read the name, everyone claps and the kid goes and picks up their award. At one point the coach called Calvin’s ex-girlfriend’s name and everyone in the auditorium is clapping. Then I spot girlie out of the corner of my eye, sneering and giving her vigorous and repeated thumbs down with both hands. Hysterical, but oh Lord, help us.
So anyway, she went upstairs to “think about how she could improve her behavior” and a few minutes later comes back downstairs, giggling, with a folded note in hand. She gives it to me and scampers off.
