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| It's a family picture. But the rest of us are nonexistent. |
One thing I
have noticed is that I was quickly replaced as the cool older person in the
house. Not that I ever dressed cool, but my clothes seem even more mom-like
when Chris sees her teenage cousin’s wardrobe. Chris’ whole goal in life, right
now, is finding the perfect game that Riley will want to spend hours playing
with her.
Now pretty
much nothing I say means anything at all unless it’s given the Riley stamp of
approval. I could beg Chris for days to clean her room but until Riley says in
her party voice, “Let’s clean your room together!” does it ever get done. This
phenomenon was proved recently at our Girl Scout Christmas party. During the Secret Santa gift exchange Chris
drew the last number and got to either open the last gift on the table or steal
another girl’s gift. While she did love all the other gifts, I suspect she
didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings so she opted to open the last gift on the
table which hadn’t been chosen yet because it was the smallest bag. In
slow-motion, the mother next to me placed her hand on my arm and said, “I’m
soooooo soooorrrrrryyyyy.”
Before I
had a chance to ask why, she was interrupted by dogs barking outside, car
alarms pealing, glass shattering and girls covering their ears with
cookie-stuffed hands. Turns out Chris really, really, REALLY liked what was
inside – fake fingernails.
This is truly something Chris has begged
for off an on for about four years. Yes, I know she’s only six herself but the
obsession started early. We can’t walk through the pharmacy without the
constant volleying of “Pleeeze? No! Whyyyyy? Because I said so!” I am so
against these fake fingernails that this is one area where I have successfully
been able to tune out the begging.
When Chris
called her father later to tell him excitedly about the gift, he got me on the
phone and asked just “Why the heck would some genius braniac buy a six-year-old
fake fingernails?” This is one area where we agree. But I did have to inform him
I don’t blame the Girl Scout mother who purchased those fingernails. After all,
she has two kids so I’m sure the constant barrage in stereo is even more
difficult to resist. Besides, she probably figured it is better to give than to
have her kid walking around looking like a chain-smoking cocktail waitress.
So here we
were, stuck with fake fingernails – albeit “child-friendly” ones with Minnie
Mouse decorations – that Chris ripped out of the package on the drive home
where they immediately stuck to the car floor mats. Correction, they stuck to
the food particles and dirt ground into the car floor mats and guess who had to
pick them out?
Anyway, I
staved her off for a few days, explaining that these were to be saved for a
special occasion. I also reminded her that her teacher wouldn’t relish finding
fingernails all over the classroom and she certainly didn’t want to find one in
her lunch or lose one at the monkey bars. Each day, though, she asked me if it
was a special occasion until I finally couldn’t put her off any longer and I
had to allow her to wear them to a family get-together. What better special
occasion could there be for a manicure than grandpa’s birthday?
I figured
at least we were among family and not out where the general public could judge
me for hussying up my kid. Since there are no instructions for these dang
nails, we applied what we could only assume were the correct nails to the correct
corresponding fingers. Immediately Chris needed help pulling up her jeans and
pushing the hair out of her face.
I told her right away I didn’t like
them. They made her hands look like she was pushing 35 and I was having
mini-nightmares about those long fingernails getting in the way of her holding
onto a stripper pole.
Soon my
19-year-old nephew and his girlfriend showed up and Chris greeted them with
“the claws”, as she so aptly named her new fingertips. They screwed up their
faces and Jacob told her he didn’t like those nails and they looked weird.
She gave a humph
and ran for the door where her precious Riley had just entered and showed her
“the claws.” Riley gave a little laugh, looked at me strangely and said, “I
thought you told her she couldn’t get fake nails until she was at least 18?”
Yes, she had already told Riley about her obsession. I replied that they were a
gift so I really didn’t have a say in it. But like a trouper Riley said loudly,
“I don’t like those. She looks like she’s one of those…one of those….pageant
kids. You know, the ones whose parents dress them up like creepy dolls?”
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| Creepy. Am I right? |
Yes. I am
aware. And I agreed wholeheartedly. So here’s what happened next.
Despite
years of me telling Chris fake nails were creepy and that she couldn’t have
them, despite her male cousin and her grandparents telling her they were weird,
all it took was her cousin Riley to tell her they were strange. No less than
five minutes later Chris asked to take the nails off because they were making
her hands feel funny. She tried to play it off like some funky fungus was
already taking root and making her fingertips itch, and to my credit I didn’t
point out the obvious that she loved them until Riley said they were strange. I
just thanked my lucky stars that Riley walked in the door at that point and
saved the day.
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| Not sure who is giving makeup lessons. |
I guess one
could look at the bad side of having a teenager around, but so far my liquor
cabinet has remained untouched and I haven’t had to kick any boys out of her
bedroom. So all is copasetic and frankly I’m thrilled that someone else will
get off the couch to go outside and play so I can watch NCIS in peace. I’m
going to ride that gravy train as long as I can.
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