Well, we had eventful weekend. Feisty Pants' grandparents came up for
the annual birthday shopapalooza pizzastravaganza weekend. They come up every
year to celebrate both girls' birthdays and spread general chaos and mayhem
about. They come bearing birthday presents and sugary snacks and crazy good
baked things and a "Why YES, you can have that!" attitude. And then take Feisty
Pants shopping. (Seriously, my mother even bought Cheweverything Pants a
present. Didn't want her to feel left out, I am sure.) And Saturday we had over
a dozen family members come to eat pizza and cake and gossip and yak . So, the
weekend was kinda nuts. Or as my parents call it- Saturday. Seriously, I come
from a huge extended family. If you didn't have to rent a hall to fit them all,
it's considered low key and casual. A dozen or so people sitting around your
kitchen table yakking over coffee is a happenstance not an event in their
eyes.
I am the youngest girl of my generation on my mother's side.
And therefore, was probably a bit indulged behavior wise, as a kid. So when I
was sixteen, my mother said this to me. " Your sister will not have kids. Your
older brother will probably not have kids. Therefore, you will be the first (I am
number three out of four in the sibling pecking order.) I want you to know that
I consider grandchildren revenge." It scared me then. That statement
horrifies me now. Because she was not kidding. I am very lucky that my parents
have not bought the girls large venomous lizards or obnoxious and dangerous
sports cars or dynamite or build your own nuclear reactor kits. Only because,
I am sure, the girls have not specifically asked for them. They have bought
them puppies and obnoxious pink tutus and for a while, specialized in gifts that
lit up AND made noise.
So, this post is apology. Of sorts. Not that, in the end, I
really mind. Every child needs someone in their life who is nothing but their
cheerleader. Someone who thinks the sun rises when they get up in the morning
and sets as they yawn and drift off to sleep. Life is hard for every kid at
times. It really helps to know when the bullies pick on you or things don't go
your way or when truly awful things happen, that someone somewhere really does
think you can become an astronaut and are cuter than a button and smarter than
Einstein. Life will tear you down enough, usually for no damn good reason that
you can or want to see. The least it can do is give one or two good soft
emotional cushions who look in the eye and say"I believe in you " and
wholeheartedly mean it.
But my girls' cheerleaders MEAN IT. In all caps. And probably
bold italics too. So when you add my raising our girls to believe their voices
should automatically be heard together with the grandparents telling them those
voices are purest golden sunshine and every little word that drops from their
lips is pearls of glittery awesomeness, you get a few quirky side effects.
Like, say, about two weeks of slightly obnoxious happiness that is not mean when
thwarted, but damn well shocked and surprised. Feisty Pants has spent the
weekend being applauded for existing and the attitude might carry over for a
bit. So I do apologize for the mischief you might see until the drug that is my
parents wears off. Good luck with her. You will need it.
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