Tuesday, August 18, 2009


This is the war cry of my youngest child as she dives toward some object she has deemed her own.
She yells this as she's running full tilt toward one of her brothers, her raccoon eyes fixed upon a shiny bauble in their possession.
She whimpers this as I take away my cell phone/keys/Prozac from her greedy little hands.
This is said with a trembling lip as she forces big, fat crocodile tears from her soft brown eyes, staring up at me with a slight pouting lip.
Punk has entered the Mine stage, just in case you'd missed all my subtle clues.
I've lived through it before with the boys. Hell, I'm still in the middle of it myself.
But facing down my tiny terrorist is taking all of my nerve and control.
When dinners is over and I ask her to place her fork/spoon/machete down on the table, she starts to comply, thinks about it, Yells, "MINE!" and the fight is on.
When I have a snack or a meal, I find myself faced with a little girl entreating, "MINE?" and i end up giving her my daily food rations.
My bed? Hers. my shoes? Hers. my Books. Hers. the Man? Not that I really wanted him, but he is most assuredly . . .Hers.
She is firmly entrenched in the land of Mine and I don't think treaties, pleading, or smart bombs will be moving her little diapered butt any time soon.
So I've started retaliating, because you know I love to let my true self out and operate on the level of a twenty month old.
Punk: MINE!
Punk: MINE!
Punk: MINE! Mommy!
Me: I paid for it. It's mine!
Punk: MINE!
Me: Do you pay the bills? Do you work every day, or do you sit around watching Yo Grabba Grabba all damned day?
Punk: Mine?
Me: Nope, girly. My house. My food. My rules. MINE!
Punk, after a moments thought: Share?
Sometimes you have to dig down and get dirty to get even a few steps closer to a truce.


Tara said...

Have you dared to ask what her definition of "share" is?

Tequilamama said...

Her idea of share? three for me--one for you--if I'm lucky!