So, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I’m not the perfect mother, not by a long shot. But aside from (sometimes) letting my children eat dessert before dinner, teaching them a few choice words (that sound hilarious coming from a nine and five-year old), and sometimes letting bath night slide by a day, I’ve come to accept that no mother will be perfect. But, as long as your children are happy, healthy, and have “okay, it’ll pass for now” dinner manners, then that’s okay.
For those of you who follow me on Facebook, you know that I’ve lovingly deemed my daughter (the five-year old), “Beast.” She’s known as this for a reason. And by the end of this post, you’ll know why.
My daughter, whom I love more than life itself, has a sense of adventure that rivals the Iron Man. She jumps head first off of the couch, likes to lay on the ground and be spun in circles on the wood floor, has broken two bones within six months, plays harder than boys twice her age, started a pre-k anti-bullying gang, says curse words in the middle of the kindergarten class, and punches other kids if they get in her way. She’s earned her nickname (which lovingly started by her preschool, yes you read that right, teacher) and it’s stuck.
My husband often tells me that she is her “mother’s daughter,” and I’ve adamantly denied that. I was nothing like my daughter at her age, and more I was the child who was quiet, liked to sit back and watch other things going on, and wasn’t one who was always up in others faces.
So, imagine my delightful surprise when a few weeks ago my son (the nine-year old) was recalling a story his grandfather told him. We’ll get to OTHER things their grandfather has taught them at a later date… This story involved my husband, who had been my son’s age at the time, telling a grown man he was going to, “Kick him in the balls.” Besides me almost choking at hearing this come out of my son’s mouth, I turned to Mr. Stone and asked him what he meant.
Apparently there had been inflatable bat day at Yankee Stadium, and so what else do you do when you get an inflatable bat? You blow it up and wave it around. In a stadium! So, this guy behind him had kept saying, “Put the bat down, kid. Put the bat down, kid.” He doesn’t, of course. A few innings later, a beer spilled on him, and just at that moment, the guy said it again, to which a young Mr. Stone turned around and told him, “If you don’t shut up, I’m going to kick you in the balls.”
Exhibit number one.
Later that night we were watching one of the Bond movies with Daniel Craig, where he jumps on the bottom of an unenclosed elevator and hangs on as it rides some fifty stories in the air. I was like, “Yeah right. Sure that could happen.” To which Mr. Stone replied, “I’ve done that before.” Again, cue the coughing and me asking, “What? You did not.” His response: “Well not on an elevator, but a cherry picker.” In case you were wondering, because I was, a cherry picker is one of those baskets on the front of a cable or utility truck. He then went on to explain that he was about 11 or 12 and had jumped on one down at a ball field. And hung on! Then once it got high, he decided to tell the guy he was there, at which point the guy grew surprised and let him down.
Exhibit number two.
You see where I’m going with this, right? Beast is not her mother’s daughter. She is her FATHER’s daughter. Case in point, two stories above. So stick it, Mr. Stone. It’s your fault! (laughing)
But…in my next post I will tell you ALL about the Girl Code I’ve been teaching with her. (Grins) We’re up to code rule number 4. You may want to stick around for that. In the meantime, you tell me…is she her mother’s? Or her father’s? ;)