The Tyrant is the first of our children to exhibit true bully potential. The other kids came home last week complaining that she had been trash-talking a boy on the bus. “Which one?” I asked.
“That one who’s always being mean to people and calling people names,” answered the Diva. I know that boy. He’s in third grade, which means he is at least 8 years old.
The Tyrant turns 6 today, and weighs about 30 pounds when she’s constipated, which is exactly never.
“What was she saying?”
“Well, she was calling him a baby and stuff,” reported the Diva, “and making faces at him.”
Hot Firefighter Husband and I gave each other telepathic fist bumps. Our little baby girl, bullying the bullies. WINNING!
“Darling,” I said to the Tyrant, “you really shouldn’t call people names, okay?”
“Okay, Mama,” she said sweetly, then leaped onto the couch and did a complicated trampoline routine.
She is such an enigma, this child. She spent her first few months clinging to life in a Latin American orphanage; perhaps it’s from that perspective that she has learned to throw herself at each day as though the world will end at sunset. She loves dirt, Nicki Minaj, and raw sugar cookies, and can throw a perfect spiral with a football. She also plays Barbies for hours, has a
totally weird contemporary eye for fashion, and prefers to wear eyeshadow thick and luscious, like, say, a burlesque dancer. Or a hooker.
We had a little family celebration last night featuring a Hello Kitty birthday cake. Her presents included two Barbies, a pink football, a leopard-print skirt, a Hello Kitty sweater, a Hello Kitty pillow, a Hello Kitty birthday card, and a betta fish. She named the fish Hello Kitty. It’s our first aquatic pet since the tragic demise of Bluey.
She would like to have a party, but we’re not big on parties around here. She’s lucky she got cake. We have a picture of the poor Pterodactyl on his second birthday blowing out two candles stuck in an ice cream sandwich. (Note to self: report this story to the Pterodactyl’s therapist.)
Anyway, the main reason she wants the party is so she can invite both a girl from last year’s preschool class and one from this year’s kindergarten class. Both are named Audrey. She calls them The Real Audrey and The New Audrey, and she wants them to meet.
Husband and I are hesitant for this to happen. What if it’s like two parallel worlds colliding, and it misaligns the universe? The Real Audrey knows the Tyrant once kissed Carter on the lips, and witnessed her ass-kicking performance in the 2011 playground burping contest. The New Audrey thinks the Tyrant likes shaggy-haired Carson, follows rules, and would never shake her booty in front of customers at the Yogaberry store. PSYCH!
Well. Maybe we can have just a little tiny party. The ensuing collision might show us how far our baby has come. But I honestly don’t think we’ll ever, ever know how far this child can go.
Happy Birthday, angel girl.