Hi Readers! I'm so happy to bringing you a ditty from my dear friend ck over at Bad Mommy Moments. Ck is truly one of my favorite writers. She's funny with a capital "F" but she can also bring you to tears in no time; if I didn't love her to pieces, I'd hate her. I'm that jealous of what she can do with a pen (or a keyboard).
I've been an ardent fan of her blog since I first started blogging last April. This girl can bring it!
She's bringing the funny today, so relax and enjoy!
For more neighbor fun, click on the icon below and hop over to The Never-True Tales for some good reading!
And in the I Am a Total Dork Department!
...I forgot to mention that I'm at Kristen's awesome site Motherese today! I'd love it if you'd come visit!
ONE and I enter the bagel bakery with great hopes of different things. I want an everything bagel, lightly toasted with just a *kiss* of cream cheese. She wants cream cheese – lots of cream cheese - with or without the bagel. For me, the soft and crunchy breakfast is what I’ve been craving for the last thirteen hours. For her, the bagel is a mere vehicle to get the creamy spread into her mouth as quickly as possible. I won’t allow her to eat it directly from the tub at home--and she would. I'm a meanie that way.
ONE is all about white these days. White shirts, white dresses, white nightgowns. The moment I clothe her dolls, she strips them back down to see the white canvas of their torsos. Warm milk is her drink of choice. Basically, if there is anything nearby in any shade of white, she wants it.
Like the attention of the white-haired lady waiting behind us for bagels. ONE smiles at the woman until she makes eye contact and waves back. An invitation.
ONE: “My mommy has a baby in her tummy.”
WHITE-HAIRED LADY: “Oh does she?”
ONE: “I going to be a big sister.”
WHITE-HAIRED LADY: “Isn’t that nice.”
The white-haired lady turns to me.
WHITE-HAIRED LADY: “She speaks very well.”
ME: “Thanks.” I tap my feet. Our bagels should be done by now. I am so hungry I’m about to rip it out of Bagel Boy’s hands, but he hasn’t put the cream cheese on it yet. He seems confused by the toaster.
ONE: “My mommy puts whipped cream on my gy-nie. Makes it feel good.”
The white-haired lady’s mouth dips into a little O. She stares at me. So do the people behind her. I smile and pull ONE close.
ME: “No, no, Sweetie.” I force a laugh. “That’s not whipped cream. It’s Des-i-tin.”
ONE: “NO Des-i-tin. WHIPPED CREAM like on my JELL-O.”
ME (low voice): “Pea, relax. We’ll talk about it when we get in the car.”
ONE: “NO! I GOTS WHIPPED CREAM ON MY GY-NIE.” She plops down on the floor and reaches under her (white) skirt for her (white) panties.
ONE: “I show you!”
The store is silent. A baker’s dozen worth of customers lean in.
BAGEL BOY: “I got an E-T toasted with cheese and a Raisin Cinnamon with extra cheese over here. Anyone?”
I grab my irate child before her "performance" gets our bagels comped and pull her towards the register. Bagel Boy waits for us there, his eyes wide. I throw some crumpled bills at him and leave without my change.
I keep my eyes forward as I march my screaming child to the car and buckle her into the car seat. She yanks her bagel out of the bag and hurls the wax paper to the floor. I let it fall and slam her door shut.
I take a deep breath. Another. I get in the car and back out of the parking spot. I catch ONE’s reflection in the rear view mirror; a white goatee already lines her chin. As I drive away and take a bite of my highly-anticipated, lightly toasted everything bagel, I realize it’s dry.
Bagel Boy forgot the cheese.
Thanks, ck, for agreeing to be my neighbor today! I love ya, kid. You always make me smile.