"They are?" I say, "When did this happen? Because I don't think I got a memo from school about it."
Is this some kind of Pig Latin trick? She could be speaking in tongues, her tone has been very preachy lately. There is a new sound in her voice and it has me wondering where my little girl went. Is she just hiding or is she gone for good?
"Mom... I'm ten years old now."
She might have well said she is twenty one and moving to Paris. And when did I become Mom? I thought I was still "Mama." But, that was a whole week ago. Apparently, I've been upgraded or downgraded, depending on how you look at it, to "Mom...," a title used with a long, condescending pause, punctuated by the "...". It fills the kitchen with the invisible yet necessary, You just don't get it, do you lady?
It's true. I don't. I must have blinked -- while she was dancing in her favorite dress, her crown and wand pinker than pink, spinning and spinning until she almost crashes into the bushes, putting on another impromptu outdoor performance while I make lunch. Her baby brother is seated in his bouncy Megasaucer, clapping his dimpled hands to the best ballet performance he has ever seen, we have ever seen. A juice box nearby in case she's thirsty after the show.
Now I'm scratching my head, trying to find a canteen? It's a ten year-old's 'must-have' accessory at lunch. Are they hiking to lunch tables in the middle of the Petrified Forest now in fifth grade? It appears my little mermaid grew permanent hiking legs while I was busy trying to figure out how to turn her back into a baby with a juice box.
I find an aluminum "canteen" which I used yesterday for my coffee, and I fill it with lemonade instead. It could be worse, I think. Just wait until you are filling it with piping hot coffee for her hike to the airport to catch that plane to Paris. I know exactly what she would say if she could hear my thoughts.
"Mom..."
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