Thursday, May 18, 2006
We Do Away With Your Kind*
* Note: Title of post has nothing whatsoever to do with content of post. I just happened to be listening to Dimmu Borgir at the time of this writing.
As mentioned before, I am a Very Graceful person. If by "Very Graceful" we actually mean "Not At All Graceful and Quite Possibly Retarded," that is.
I am prone to limping, falling down, running into stuff, dropping stuff and bruising myself on a regular basis. Part of this is due to the fibromyalgia and part of it is due to the fact that I am just klutzy. People of This Earth: Do Not Let Zombie into Your China Shops. You Have Been Warned.
It is becoming apparent that I have passed this gene on to my daughter. Three times this week alone have I gotten accident reports from her school because she's managed to mangle herself in some way or another.
First, she ran into the couch in her classroom and skinned her knees.
Then, she ran into another kid, which caused her to bite her tongue.
Yesterday, she pulled a chair - with another child sitting upon it - over on top of herself, resulting in a knot on her forehead the size of Kansas.
She already bears a striking physical resemblance to me (poor child) and I feel bad that she has inherited my Quite Possibly Retardedness on top of it. Perhaps I will put her in ballet, where she can be forcibly taught to be Very Graceful and thus not end up crashing into varied objects when she gets to be my age.
Then again, she'd probably make a better professional wrestler. Rick Flair, watch out. Here comes The Mimi of Doom/Death/Destruction/Care Bears. Wooooo!
My daughter is small but mighty. When she makes her wrath known, her voice can shatter glass in regions as far away as Germany. If a window in your home suddenly explodes for no apparent reason, it will be safe to conclude that it is because my daughter is pissed off about something. That something could be anything, really, but probably has to do with not being able to wear her flip-flops to school ("But, Mooooooom, I LIKE THEM!") or that I will not let her watch "Number Three Harry Potter" for the millionth time in a row ("But, Mooooooom, I LIKE NUMBER THREE HARRY POTTER!").
When she was but a wee lass of 2, her father took both kids to the park. He came back, laughing his ass off. Apparently, The Mimi of Doom/Death/Destruction/Care Bears wanted to go down the slide, but another girl, who was perhaps 7 years old and 900 times my daughter's size, would not get out of the way. The older girl taunted my daughter and refused to move.
That was her first mistake. The Mimi of Doom/Death/Destruction/Care Bears will not be defied.
My daughter hauled off and managed to somehow kick the girl in the stomach - hard - knocking her to the ground. "I said MOVE!" she announced, in her best Der Fuhrer voice.
The other girl began to cry. That was her second mistake. The Mimi of Doom/Death/Destruction/Care Bears can smell weakness a mile away and will not tolerate it.
"Crybaby!" she hollered and proceeded to walk over the girl on the ground and slide down the slide, calling cheerfully to her father, "Hi, Daddy! I sliding!"
If her career as a professional wrestler does not work out, she does have other options, too. Meredith's skills also include that of being able to incite riots at a moment's notice.
For example, a few weeks ago, I arrived at her school to pick her up. Her teacher pulled me aside, "Uhm, we have a problem."
"What did she do?"
"She...well...she started a riot, basically."
"That's my girl!"
"Er...that's terrible! How did this happen?"
"She did not want to clean up before naptime. She stomped her foot and shouted, "NO!" at me. Then she looked around at the other kids, and all of a sudden, they were all stomping their feet and shouting "NO!" It was pandemonium."
"Hmm. I knew I should've named her Che."
"Nothing. I will talk to her about it."
My daughter, the Pint-Sized Revolutionary. I think she and Chairman Mao might've gotten along famously.
Today, she pulled a similar stunt, refusing to wash her hands after lunchtime, which resulted in a chain reaction of five other children also refusing to wash their hands. There was apparently much hollering and other general jackassery.
"Uhm, we have a problem again."
"What did she do this time?"
"She wouldn't wash her hands and then five other kids wouldn't, either. There was yelling."
"Hmm. Did you try beating her?"
"Well, that's what I do. Her fighting spirit must be broken."
"If that doesn't work, you could just lock her in the closet. If she gets hungry, just shove some crackers under the door. They're flat. They'll fit."
"I keed. I keed."
Note to Self: Watch It.
So, I am going to teach her to say "Viva la Revolucion!" and get her a beret. Said beret will have to be pink, of course, as she only likes pink right now, but it will do.
That'll make a great picture for this year's Nondenominational Gift-Giving Day card, don't you think? "Season's Greetings from the Reincarnation of Che Guevara!"
PS - Just as I was getting ready to post this, The Mimi of Doom/Death/Destruction/Care Bears just displayed a heretofore unnoticed ability. She managed to get the whole way from her room, down the stairs, into the basement, and right beside my chair without me hearing her, resulting in me turning my head a bit and getting the daylights scared out of me when I notice she's standing there.
Guess we have to add Stealth Ninja to her list of possible career moves.
link | posted by Zombie at 4:59 PM |
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