Pushing The Write Woman’s Buttons (342 Days Left ‘til Celebration)

Like any kids in a family, mine don’t always get along. Let me rephrase that one; my kids almost never get along. But when a brother and sister fight, it’s expected that the parent intercept like a peacemaker. This means I’m the good guy! Someone needs to explain this to my daughter.

Yesterday afternoon, her friend asked if Nikki could play today after school. Thinking it would be good for her, and I could play a video game at the library when I was done with my schoolwork, I was psyched. “Sure,” I said, and the little devil on my shoulder nodded. This was going to be awesome! Imagine my disappointment when Nikki became obstinate.

Let me start out by saying I’m particularly upset because her friend is a good influence. How many parents can say that with a straight face? In third grade, her friend is outside after school, delivering sales pitches to the parents for her low rates in babysitting. I’ve heard parents accepting—I mean, this girl is on fire—a more perfect friend for my daughter couldn’t have been hand-picked by me.

This morning, with that fire beneath her, I decided it was the best time to encourage her independence and responsibilities by turning on the light (bad mommy) when the alarm went off, and explaining the rest was up to her. If she wanted breakfast, she’d need to get a move-on if she was going to be on time. Well, the threat set the pace for the rest of the morning. Not getting into it, just going to sum it up by admitting I lost.

I unloaded her in front of the school with her hair tangled, her posture bent, and a frown on her face that bounced off her knees as she skulked across the parking lot. I’d had it. I called her friend’s dad and notified him that Nikki was unfortunately not living up to the standards of a good friend today, therefore would not be playing after school.

Meanwhile, I’d completed her costume for Halloween. The kids aren’t supposed to wear masks, and Nikki wants to be a werewolf. I bought a cute little nose, ears, and tail of a fox, pulled out the fake blood and set to work. An oversized sweatshirt and pants and she could be a $5 Walmart Special werewolf. I’m a freakin’ genius! At least I was until Nikki finished oooing and awing over how great the costume was. That was when she told me they couldn’t have fake blood because it scares little kids. I suppose a nosebleed is presumably cause for a trauma team then, huh? I told her I’d buy another ensemble and a rubber chicken she could put in her mouth as the age-old fox in the hen house gag. What can you expect for five—or, I mean, ten bucks?

The most incredible thing happened when I picked Nikki up from school, she had experienced a complete attitude makeover, thanks to the great friends she chooses to associate with. Who can predict that when she'd a bit older, she won't be giving me solid advice on how to behave better? Hopefully by then, she'll at least have outgrown her fox in the chicken coop costume.