Pener Pam

I might have mentioned a time or two that my 4 year old princess doesn't listen to a word I say. No seriously. I'm this bossy manager at work, and when I get home, my daughter constantly disagrees with me. I can't request her termination like I would an employee (well, I could, I guess, but that would be creepy and evil, and I'd like to think I'm not evil...yet) but if she was an employee of mine, I would have long-ago got rid of her ass for insubordination. And no, contrary to what some people might say, she does not act 'just like me.' Whatever.

So, she disagrees with me at every turn, and I mean at every turn! A simple request for lunch preference brings about an argument on whether she has ever eaten the particular food in question. And yes, my darling mini-me, despite what you say, you used to love pizza. It has never been yucky and up until this very instant, you have eaten every bite. (Pizza, the four-food-group-staple of every mom, right?) And by the way, water does not taste like ocean. I am also sure you have never seen an ocean, let alone tasted one, so there!

This week she likes dill pickles. Honestly, I suspect that she sees whatever her daddy eats, and decides that she likes it. It has to be that, because I would have never produced a child who likes lima beans FCS! That is simply not possible, as lima beans are one of the three most disgusting vegetables ever grown, as I see it. And no little BIT of a princess will ever tell me different. No child of mine should ever voluntarily eat their lima beans! You know as well as I do that in every household in America the family dog / cat / guinea pig / iguana / snake / hamster / ferret / rat / bird / fish (circle your choice here) ends up eating the lima beans! Don't lie now, you slipped your lima beans to your (insert circled lima bean afficionado here) growing up, didn't you?

Last week, however, she actually not only listened to me, she demonstrated that she understood something that I had said- we were talking about familial relationships. And she got it. No, really! I asked her what my name was, and she said, "Mommy!"

"Yes, now what's my other name?"

"I don't know." Her standard answer of course.

I tell her my given name, she repeats it like it's a foreign language, and then I run through the same thing with Daddy. Same question, same answer. "Ok, what about Nana's name?"

"Nana!"

We go through the given name, and I ask her if Nana has another name, and she says no. "Well, pumpkin, Nana's other name is Mommy. When Daddy was a little boy, Nana was his Mommy!" And yes, I know she still is, but she's four, and there's a different concept I need to get across to her.

Now, I'm not sure which of these concepts fried her toddler brain - the one about Nana being Mommy, or the one where Daddy was a little boy, but it stumped her, and she stared at me like I had told her she couldn't watch Umi Zoomi, so I went through the same thing with the rest of our parents. Then, "and right now you're Diana, but when you grow up and have a little girl, you'll be Mommy, and your little girl will call you Mommy, and me Mamaw!" And I will laugh like no one's listening, because I am going to make that child rotten!

Well that short-circuited wire in her brain must have crossed at that instant, and she started to cry. Loudly. Fucking great, now what?! Her dad looks at me like I'd poked her with a pin or somthing. "What?"

"Why do you always have to make her cry?" he asked, like I do it on purpose or something. I don't, not always anyway.

"I don't want to grow up, I want to stay a little girl!" and she cried harder. I mean really, WTF?

"Well, Peter Pan, all little girls grow up. That's just what happens."

"No, Mommy, my name isn't Pener Pam! It's Diana!" Great, one more reason for her to think I'm a moron.

"Whatever, pumpkin, just eat your pickles."

"My name isn't pumpkin, either, Mommy!" Whatever. Maybe I wouldn't fire her after all - someone has to eat all those lima beans, because I'm sure as shit not eating them!