Thursday, May 12, 2011

The Princess and the Boss

We are once again on to a new phase in the developing personalities of our little girls. These traits have always been there, but recently have taken primary positions in the hierarchy of their personas.

ML is a princess--no qualifications necessary. Her clothing consists anything that can be described as "dancily" and must look pretty when twirling. Anything that is sparkly or pink or both is a bonus. She loves dancing and singing being complimented on her pretty dresses. She is enamored with pictures of her beautiful mommy in her wedding dress and, much to my dismay, claims that she is married when wearing an especially pretty and dancily dress.

IR is the boss, but much like a good manager, answers dutifully to the management structure in the house. Mommy is, of course, President and CEO, as we adhere to the matriarchal structure inherited through the maternal familial lines passed down through generations of my wife's ancestry. Daddy qualifies as Vice President and COO, which gives me enough authority to run the show when Mommy is at work. My position does not, however, exempt me from the rules that we have imposed upon our lovely little girls, which gives IR the authority to remind us when we happen to forget the rules.

Just the other day we were eating lunch, macaroni and cheese as usual.
"Daddy, I spilled. Daddy, I spilled. Daddy, I spilled." ML whined. She didn't spill, every now and then she will take a drink, fruit punch Kool-Aid this time, and inexplicably let it trickle out of her mouth onto whatever she is wearing. I don't know why she does it and it is one of those things that would induce me to spanking if I did that sort of thing--an irrational response of course, but in these moments, rationality is difficult.

"Why? Why did you spit out your drink?" I snapped. "I hate when you do that!" I wetted a paper towel and dabbed her pink dancily dress even though I knew she would soon take this one off and go to her closet in search of a clean dancily dress.
"Daddy, we don't say hate." Ir whispered to me when I was done. I took a breath.
"You're right sweetie. I'm sorry. Now eat your food girls." I replied and sat down to eat a sandwich. I took at bite.
"Daddy...Daddy...Daddy...Daddy...Daddy...Daddy." Ir kept saying while I was trying to finish chewing.
"You shouldn't talk with your mouth full."
"Then why did you..." I started impatiently, "You're right sweetie, I'm sorry. What did you want?"
"What do you mean?"
"What did you want when you were saying my name?"
"Can I please have some more water?"
"Yes, just a second." I got up and put the cup under the ice dispenser. It turned and made grinding noises but nothing came out.
"What's wrong Daddy?" Ir asked as I opened the freezer door to see what was wrong.
"The stupid ice maker isn't working."
"Daddy, we don't say stupid."
"You're right sweetie, I'm sorry."

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