I like to think of myself as an adult.
And apart from the occasional candy corn binge session, an obsession with Facebook, and a reluctance to share the computer with my husband (No, I am not done blogging yet. Well, you can have it when you tear it from my cold dead hands! Then you’ll have a laptop, but NO WIFE! Har!), I act like one, too.
But the Little V-meister has a way of bringing out the three-year old in me. I found myself picking a fight with her on the way to playgroup this morning:
V-meister: Mama, “E” is for cookie.
Rimarama: Well, actually, it isn’t. “C” is for cookie.
And apart from the occasional candy corn binge session, an obsession with Facebook, and a reluctance to share the computer with my husband (No, I am not done blogging yet. Well, you can have it when you tear it from my cold dead hands! Then you’ll have a laptop, but NO WIFE! Har!), I act like one, too.
But the Little V-meister has a way of bringing out the three-year old in me. I found myself picking a fight with her on the way to playgroup this morning:
V-meister: Mama, “E” is for cookie.
Rimarama: Well, actually, it isn’t. “C” is for cookie.
V-meister: No, Mama! “E” is for cookie!
Rimarama: Trust me on this one, little V. It is not.
V-meister: (Straining in her car seat) “E”! Is for cookie.
Rimarama: No.
V-meister: Yes.
We could have gone on for hours.
I was getting ticked. I’m normally cool as a cucumber in these situations, but my blood was going from a low simmer to an outright boil.
Who’s the English major in this relationship? Who competed in the Annual Charlotte Observer Spelling Bee of 1986? Who has over eighteen years of schooling under her belt, and who started pre-school LAST WEEK? Who writes her own blog, and who writes her name backwards?
But, instead of withholding my collector’s edition Dora stickers and/or the pleasure of my company during recess, I took the high road. I gave the little V-meister the last word (letter?) on the subject.
Retribution was achieved on the ride back home.
We were listening to one of our favorite Lithuanian choral music CDs, the kids merrily bopping away in their car seats and me humming quietly under my breath. A song that I particularly like came on and, because I fancy myself a diva of sorts, I cranked up the volume and rocked it as much as a person can rock a pagan Lithuanian ballad. It may have been a tad shrill, but I totally nailed the high G at the top of the crescendo.
Nailed it and hung my boxing gloves on it, my friends.
You see, my singing of any tune the little V-meister considers proprietary galls her to no end. Although I am a half-decent soprano, the V-meister’s customary reaction to my singing is akin to what it would be were someone to drag claws across a chalkboard while forcing her to sit still and eat a plate of broccoli.
I sang my little heart out all the way back home.
Rimarama: Trust me on this one, little V. It is not.
V-meister: (Straining in her car seat) “E”! Is for cookie.
Rimarama: No.
V-meister: Yes.
We could have gone on for hours.
I was getting ticked. I’m normally cool as a cucumber in these situations, but my blood was going from a low simmer to an outright boil.
Who’s the English major in this relationship? Who competed in the Annual Charlotte Observer Spelling Bee of 1986? Who has over eighteen years of schooling under her belt, and who started pre-school LAST WEEK? Who writes her own blog, and who writes her name backwards?
But, instead of withholding my collector’s edition Dora stickers and/or the pleasure of my company during recess, I took the high road. I gave the little V-meister the last word (letter?) on the subject.
Retribution was achieved on the ride back home.
We were listening to one of our favorite Lithuanian choral music CDs, the kids merrily bopping away in their car seats and me humming quietly under my breath. A song that I particularly like came on and, because I fancy myself a diva of sorts, I cranked up the volume and rocked it as much as a person can rock a pagan Lithuanian ballad. It may have been a tad shrill, but I totally nailed the high G at the top of the crescendo.
Nailed it and hung my boxing gloves on it, my friends.
You see, my singing of any tune the little V-meister considers proprietary galls her to no end. Although I am a half-decent soprano, the V-meister’s customary reaction to my singing is akin to what it would be were someone to drag claws across a chalkboard while forcing her to sit still and eat a plate of broccoli.
I sang my little heart out all the way back home.
Divarama, circa 1993
12 comments:
Rimarama - I'll be your facebook friend, because I too am obsessed with it. I have no idea how to use it though, so much of the time I stare uselessly at my profile wondering how to get more friends and wondering why I can't join my college alumni network. (Plus I am also irrationally possessive of the laptop which was purchased for me to use in grad school before I got preggers and dropped out. It's still mine, mine!)
Revenge is best served... singing? If it works for you, rock it!
Oh and did you say Facebook? Lets beeeee ffrienddddddssssssss! Like for sure. Totally. Please?
lol...show her who the boss is...i can totally foresee diva clashes in my house once my child is old enough to rebel...
I have been known to engage in childish arguments with my children, while my husband stands in the background mouthing, "Why do you care?"
I blame my mother, really, for having a baby when I was 11 and condemning me to a sister/half-second existence.
Freud would love it.
HI . . . found your blog tonight and I'm a professor of choral music. Would you mind sharing with me the cd titles you are talking about in this post? I'm interested in what you found so compelling!
philip.copeland@gmail.com
Hahaha kids bring out the onery in all of us. See if she argues with you again soon!
My song of choice to sing at the top of my lungs in the car is the Star Spangled Banner. And it's so much better if I have something to hold in my hand to act as a microphone!
Oh how I love the sounds of shrieking boys from the back seat :) It definitely stops any whining or bickering and ends with peals of laughter.
My 2nd song of choice is Home on the Range!
Ha ha! I love that you felt the need to list your credentials for arguing that C is indeed for cookie. (That's good enough for me.)
LOL. I have been there so many times, sometimes not taking the high road. Why don't toddlers like for us to sing along to their songs? For as long as she could talk I have heard her complaints, from "no sing" to "don't sing my songs, mommy," like a surly teenager. Do I embarrass her like my mother embarrassed me as a teenager when she sang GnR's Welcome to the Jungle (operatically) for me and my friends? I hope not.
Pooh. I have MySpace. All the cool people are on Facebook. Which is probably why I only had an account for 2 hours and deleted it because I didn't know anyone on there.
I suck.
ha ha! i sing fairly well, but am not allowed to sing along to the radio at ALL when my daughter is in the car. she,too, feels such ownership, particularly when we are listening to The Beatles (her favorite)
OMG, that is the funniest story EVER! I love that. You described it so well, I think I can see your little one's face. Thanks for the laugh!
- Heidi
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