It’s started. The tween years have officially come full swing. My little diva was holed up in her room surrounded by poster covered walls with her CD player CRANKED. I was in the kitchen. The room directly below her room. And I could hear every freakin’ word clearly. Time to do what my Dad did to me. Grab a broom, bang on the ceiling with it and holler… “TURN THAT DAMN MUSIC DOWN!!!!!!!!”
Her response was to come down to the kitchen and rummage through the pantry in search of “something good to eat”. Which was apparently not something in the pantry. She finally, grudgingly, settled on a PB and J sandwich. A staple in this house. Personally, though as a child I actually liked the things, I now can’t stomach the smell or site of them let alone take a bite of one. Aside from the sugar in the jam wreaking havoc on my teeth the smell makes me want to gag.
As she was walking towards the fridge for the jam she slid on God knows what (she’s my daughter so for all we know she tripped over her own two feet) and landed flat on her ass. Silence followed in which I tried, desperately, not to erupt into giggles. Sydney, in true drama queen form, collapsed into a puddle of tears as I lost the battle with said giggles.
I know, I know.. I’m awful. But honestly I knew she was ok because there was a delay between her hitting the floor and the tears. And around here, as a family of klutzes, there’s always someone falling on the floor or banging into something. I’ve learned to discern the difference between the “I’m so embarrassed cry.” and the “I’m really in pain cry.”
Further proof that she’s fine.. She is now happily consuming her PB and J watching some mindless Disney Channel tween flick. Completely dry eyed. Imagine that.