because i am the Mother of the Year (don’t even try to steal my thunder…the honor is all mine), it only makes sense that i will be in St. Lucia when my firstborn turns 7. she has informed us, however, that because we are missing her actual birthday, we will be celebrating before we leave and after we get back. “because you guys were never miss Isabella’s birthday…but, *sigh* i know, she’s your favorite” she has a masters degree in laying-it-on-thick. also..it’s clear who wears the pants in our family.
the mother of the year, it is not.
do not let her super cute baby pictures fool you
my flying monkey might be the spawn of the devil.
(wait…um, she’s my spawn…so that can’t be right…)
(i have certainly overused the word spawn this week, haven’t i?)
and sure, she’s a great dancer…
and sure, she thinks that the words to the Aladdin song are “asshole new world”. and sure, she won’t sleep on daddy’s side of the bed because his bum bum touches it. and sure, she’s smart and funny and is almost cool enough to hang out with…
…but devil, i tell you. put on this earth to test me and my patience. we’ve always used the word ‘precocious’ to describe Emily. a teenager in a small little body. she cares about fashion and boys and music (not good music, mind you…since she loves Gwen Stefani and Fergie….) and her hair.
but, Ali, why all this devil talk today, you ask? none of this is new…we knew Emily was ahead of her time.
here it is. drumroll….
my child has discovered the phone.
she’s not even seven. and my phone is ringing all night. girls from school. girls from hip hop. BOYS. calling. nonstop.
help. me. please. pray for me that i’ll be able to stop screening my calls soon…