I'm not mean. Really.

“Mom, I’m soooo hungry!”
“There strawberries in the fridge and cookies in the jar. Say, LilMiss, I just want to tell you your violin practice is going very well. It sounds like you’re really progressing on your scales”
“Mo-om, I’m not practicing!”


“GAH! FINE!!” stomp stomp stomp

Sometimes being a parent has it’s good times.
I’m still giggling. Quietly. So she can’t hear me over her violin.

(Hey! This is post 1001! Cool!)

You’re forcing music lessons on your daughter? Evil!

Some people are superior, some people are inferior, and the rest are just mean.

I hear you. Usually the wife and I can hold it together when Genghis Blonde (at all of 13) decides life is just too, too dramatic to bear, and we’re the primary cause of it.

But . . . a couple of months ago we were having a “discussion” about music practice and she got herself ready to go Katie-Kaboom on us; and I couldn’t stop myself. I snickered.

It caught me by surprise, it did. And then my wife gave me a sideways “What the hell are you doing?!” look, and the floodgates opened. I laughed so hard I thought my head would explode. Knowing Genghis Blonde was outraged and that my wife’s resolve not to lose it was weakening only made matters worse . . . or better.

About twenty minutes later, I was composed enough to go upstairs to apologize to my daughter and continue our discussion under less dramatic circumstances.