Wordless Wednesday: Queen of the Pile
Writing Challenge #2: The Lunch Box - Hungary for Peanut Butter

The Littlest Elf That Could, Fo'Shizzle!

Christmas Foshizzle 2009

Hope found her sister's infamous skull cap (you know, the one I wrote about, a few years ago, when my middle girl was going through, well, at the time, it seemed like something pretty major) and, as with most things in our house, time heals old parenting wounds and my husband, Garth [not his real name] and I just don't seem to sweat small-ish head gear, anymore.

"Wait, let mommy take your picture!"

You see, Hope is our youngest and, being 4th in an already long line waiting to get into the bathroom (my 16 year old has moved in, apparently) and, well, it's like we get a do-over, sort of.

"You never let US sleepover anyone's house until we were, like, in middle school!"

Yes, but I also pointed out the fact that Hope has never had her own room.  Okay, neither did Heather (consider yourself lucky, Holly) but, that's NOT the point.

"When can I get a second hole, like Heather?"

[eyes go wide]

"I think wearing 2 earrings in the same ear looks cool!"

Oh, phew, I thought she meant [remembers that Heather might be reading this, right now] never mind.

"Maybe when you're 10."


I know, I know, but you don't live here (you're welcome!) or have to hear constant comparisons being made on just how terrible of a mother I am, was and forever shall be, no matter what I do, do you?

"Did you hear what Hope did, today?"

I came home from work, one night...um...this week (I think) and, though Garth [not his real name] has stepped up to the dinner plate, rather nicely (his home made chicken fingers taste way better than mine, DAMMIT) let's just say that, apparently, he was a tyrannical slave driver in a previous life and the kids are, you know, beginning to really miss me.

[closes eyes and rubs left temple]

"What now?"

Long story short (you're welcome!) her father was looking through her backpack (seriously, the guy IS anal) when he saw an envelope marked "from the class mom" opened it and found it was filled with change.

"$10.00, to be exact."

Quarters, nickles, dimes and pennies, ALL stuffed into a smallish white envelope.

"What, is she extorting money from the class mom, now?"

Not exactly.

"It's for the teacher's gift."

Apparently, she's lived with me long enough to know that, you know, I sometimes don't remember to sit down and actually read the bazillion handouts, that come home, anymore (seriously, there are some freakishly anal people out there!) and she's absolutely right.

"I'm almost exactly 8 and a half, now."

Yeah, I know and it's making me feel a little sad.

"I can take care of myself, you know."

Okay, more than a little sad.

"So, can I have an allowance?"

I'm all torn up that my littlest elf can NOW reach all the way up to the top shelf.


Don't worry, I'll get over it.

"Maybe when you're 10."

But, probably not.

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