Little A has a new talent. You know Little A, my La-La, rainbows and butterflies and UNICORNS AND GLITTER! IT’S SO FLUFFY AND CUTE! Her new talent is a bit out of character…and I’m not even sure where she picked it up: Beat-boxing. She does this spitting-and-groaning thing non-stop around the house. And sometimes she will mix-in all Fresh-Prince style some jibberish that sounds like it could be song-like. The other night, she was doing the spittin’ thing in the kitchen while I was washing dishes. She stopped and then instructed me on what I had to do. “Mom! When I do the beat boxin’ (she rarely enunciates the “g” on the ends of words…as in ‘Mama, you are funny lookin’!’) you say cool words. Okay?” I agreed to do just that. She started the beat, threw in some cool moves to boot, and then when she got wound up and gave me the “look” with her eyebrows I hollered, “COOL WORDS!” “NOOOOOOOOOOOO! That’s not RIGHT!” The next time around, when given further and more specific directions, on cue, I shouted, “Little A is my baby and I love her so much…she’s sweet like candy and such.” This only angered her more. I thought it was clever. She corrected me. Apparently beat-boxin’ requires the use of male-oriented cool phrases. Think: ‘in my ride’ kinda stuff. I told her I was not qualified to shout out such things, and that she’d have to have her daddy help her out from now on.
In other news, Teen C came home from Florida yesterday. She went with Ya-Ya’s family, which includes her BFF, Tween A. Ya-Ya had a rough week, methinks. Apparently toting around a two year who has decided that he neither likes the sand or the water is no fun when that’s ALL THERE IS TO DO. Additionally, she was constantly worried that the girls would meet their untimely demise via pedophile or undertow while under her care. I understood this completely. In fact, the entire time my kids and I were on vacay with Just Aimee and her boys, Aimee spent the whole time telling the kids “Sure!” and “Go ahead” while I sat behind her thinking about how Zohrhubby would kill me if one of the kids fell from a cliff and bashed their head on a rock. The undertow of the ocean is just a metaphor for all of the unseen risks and dangers that our kids face when they walk out of our doors everyday. If we spent all of our time worrying about what could happen to them, they’d end up hermits with no pigmentation to their skin. I talk big, but I’m still scared as hell. Thanks again, Ya-Ya for taking her along. She had a fan-freakin’-tastic time.
Next trip: ADULT WOMEN ONLY. I further declare by the powers vested in me (I am a Notary, after all) that the men shall take care of the chil’ren. Beat THAT!
So, all of my birdies are back in my nest, for now. And the decibel level just went right back up to “normal” at my house. That is to say “normal” for my house, dear reader, not as compared to yours or the average human family. 🙂