This morning, as I was in the second half of getting ready-I had run Kayla down to the end of the drive to meet the bus and came back to finish the makeup and hair-I was using my daily dose of hair spray to lift and separate my lovely locks- I debated (and yes, I am the queen of the run on sentence, I find that with the artful applications of commas and dashes you can finish a paragraph with the use of only one period and who needs more periods in life?) yes, debated how long would I be able to stand the sound of my daughter singing in a monotone.
I can't stand noise. If it is the same sound and it repeats twice I am on edge. Three times "gets my back up" four times gets a polite request, although there is a bit of an edge to my voice, I don't care who you are employer, client, client's child, priest, to "stop that". But from there it goes straight into a bloody murder, hurts my throat, scream to "knock that off, now!" I find I really roll the o into the w for further reinforcement.
She's just a kid, it's sweet to hear her sing. Singing means she's happy. Get a grip. Chill out. Settle down there, psycho! It's not like she's humming into her bong out there! What the hell is wrong with me? Oh that's right.... there's an incessant monotone noise ringing in my head and all my synapses have stopped firing yet still there is an incessant monotone noise ringing in my head!
So my first yell, a rather calm "BROOKE! STOP THAT!" goes unheeded I can only wait that 3 car lengths behind before I yell "BRROOOKE! KNOCK IT OFF!" Then in response I get this teeny tiny "What?Mom, What?" Well, by now, the beast is loose. "Get in here, now. If you can't hear me you come find me! Don't stand there yelling "what??' Get over here!" "NOW!"
Of course this little girl of mine is no fool and I hear the footsteps coming quickly down the hall. I turn to explain to her for the millionth time that Mommy can't stand noise and she needs to sing in her head but not one word comes out of my mouth.
Standing in the door way of my bathroom is this little girl. A little girl with a mini skirt dress, black leggings, a hot pink jacket that of course spells out "princess" in white glittery letters. Her hair is slicked back into a pony tail and stuck in her ears are headphones connected to the CD player in her hands.
This is not my little girl. My little girl is just little. She was born little. She weighed 4lbs and a couple odd ounces and fit in my husbands' hand. One day she learned to walk and spent a lot of time walking away from me but would always come back when she was tired or hungry or just plain put out. My little girl started kindergarten this year. She was so nervous about following the rules that she talked about it in her sleep. I know because she snuck into bed with me that night. This creature in front of me was not my baby. She is, and always will be my child, but in that minute I saw just a little too far into the future.
"What Mom? What?"
"Nothing, honey, Mommy just wanted to know what you were doing. Go listen to your music, I will be ready to go in a minute."
I hate to see her walk away. It's one of my least favorite things. But the morning was slipping away and now I had to re- do my mascara.