I love three day weekends. When I was working, I loved the extra day of reprieve from crazy, hormonal 9th graders who never completed homework and who didn’t know Ethiopia was a real country. Now, I love the three day weekend because Hubby gets to stay home and experience the 24-hour roller coaster ride operated by the Little Lady. Occasionally, he tries to cop out of the day-to-day duties of parenting, but I’m very quick to remind him that he is, in fact, “tall enough to ride this ride.” Then, before he can cry “Mommy’s turn,” I lock the safety bar in place and skip off to eat some cotton candy a very nutritious snack.
It’s fun to watch him interact with her, feed her, placate her, and then become completely befuddled when she isn’t thankful for any of it and demands, courtesy of a high-pitch scream, to do something else. Yep, it’s good to watch Daddy go through all of this for a change. I enjoy my three day weekends.
With Hubby at home, I’m free to do a few more things than normal, such as taking off the 3-month old nail polish patches on my thumbs that refuse to wear away like the rest of their squad . You know, the “Mommy Detailing” that doesn’t get accomplished during my work week. But, even though I’ve been excited all week for the chance to pamper myself a bit, I have yet to do it. Instead of taking care of my faded nail polish, I played with the Little Lady this afternoon. Now, before you say “awww” and pat my back, let me continue with the ugly truth that hit me today.
I get angry over the fact that my 1-year old daughter doesn’t play fair!
I have tons, literally tons, of fun games and ideas for us, if she would just listen. I’m good at setting up playtime. . . and bossing around those that are playing. I suppose it all stems from my 1st-born tendencies, which led me (back in the day) to boss my three younger sisters to the ground. We played my games . . . and by my rules. I even blocked and scripted the scenes! No freedom of speech in my imaginative scenarios. If you’re going to be one of the Nuns secretly working for the French resistance, you’ll do and say as I, the big-sister, pleases! (And, yes, that is a real story-line that we acted out; we also constructed covered wagons out of our beds and prehistoric caves out of fallen tree branches. We were a little over-the-top in our historical dramas)
Today, like all days, the Little Lady didn’t pay any attention to me as we played with her building blocks. I tried to explain that we’re using the blocks to create a Greek temple and that everything needed to be very symmetrical. I also tried to explain the importance of the color balance of our structure, showing her that taking the one green piece that I needed ruined the entire affect.
She didn’t care.
And, just when when I had put the last little royal blue triangle roof piece carefully on top of the 2nd story yellow blocks, she reached over for the small red block that was serving as the foundational cornerstone, effectively knocking over my miniature masterpiece.
The NERVE!
Doesn’t she know I’m the Mommy? Doesn’t she know I have YEARS of playtime experience and can create the perfect story to act out? Doesn’t she know that symmetry is very important to me and that it took several minutes to line all the blocks up just so????
Nope. She doesn’t care. Why? Because she’s (just) ONE. I’m (nearly) 30. It’s high-time I grew up and quite trying to spend my days in “make-believe land.” And, after all, they are her toys.
