Yesterday was the kind of day that started with an overflowing coffeepot onto a white tile countertop.
When I say it was "...the kind of day that..." what I mean is, "...in reality, it literally occurred...". Coffee grounds + white coffeemaker + white tile + white grout = big fucking mess. It was my fault. I added too much coffee to the coffee ground receptacle bucket-thingy.
After I managed to salvage one jarful of the liquid gold with a filter and more mess-making, the morning continued. Next was a two-hour dentist appointment where the hygienist politely pointed out that while my teeth and gums were relatively healthy, that six-year hiatus from regular dental visits (long story - stop judging me - please!) was not a good thing.
Oops. I know.
The excitement was continued that afternoon when I met with the new tax preparer. I thought I was prepared for the meeting, but she kept asking for things - things I did not have! - necessitating appointment number two next week.
Boy, was I ever ready to get that day over with.
The thing about kids is, you never know what you're going to get from day to day. I'm talking specifically about behavior and attitude, but it could, of course, include anything. One day, OC will be the sweetest, most helpful child in the world, so much so that I will feel like blogging about it just to brag. The next moment - or hour, or day - she cops an attitude so fierce it makes me think we've skipped all the years between 7 and 12 and gone straight to 13.
I am not ready for that. I can barely keep up with six years, two months and nineteen days much less a teenager.
The good thing about six years old is that once she's in trouble, she's much more likely to want to get out of it than another older age may be. This morning, for instance, was the day that I lost my patience with all the equivocating she's begun to do. I asked her if her bed was made. Yes! She answered. Fine, go watch cartoons with my blessing, dear one. I'll just be the mommy with the coffee over here right now.
Later, when I went up to her room, her bed was most decidedly unmade. Now, I'm not looking for hospital corners here (not until she's seven - ha ha ha ha ha ha Type A haaaaaa). I just want the covers pulled up and kind of smoothed out so that it looks good. I told her how unhappy and disappointed I was in her, and then she started in with contrition. Oh, the contrition!
We spent the morning cleaning, all the while I told her I loved her, but the lying will not be tolerated. If there's one thing I cannot stand, it's lying. (Lying, and coffee-stained white tile kitchen counters.)
And then, poof! I turned into my mom.
When did this happen, I wonder? When did I become a rule-making, rule-enforcing, list-making, errand-running individual? When I gave birth, is when. The transformation, it is involuntary. It's also hit-or-miss, which makes me wonder what else I have to look forward to. Maybe one day I will leave the house in the morning with my kids in the car and then forget they are there so instead of dropping them at school I will try to drive to work? (That was classic! Circa approximately 1989-1990.)
However, in my mom's defense I can say that she has never filled up the coffeepot with so much coffee that it overflowed all over the place, nor did she let six years go by between dental cleanings. It does make me cringe when she adopts the overly-gratified tone in her voice and tells me, "OC is just like YOU!!!"