She was just a bit off this morning. A little less flexible, a little more demanding, a little whinier than usual. Which made an otherwise lovely visit with friends just a bit more taxing than usual. And, bit by bit, her mom and dad were worn down until we were both left gasping for naptime.
Parenting is not supposed to be taken personally. Which is the most illogical statement I believe I've ever heard. Three and a half years on, and I still cannot, no matter how hard I try, detach myself emotionally from that spicy little meatball of mine when she's going berserk. She's got my number alright.
But sometimes, magic happens.
Like putting a world weary, rage-inflamed, exhausted beyond emotional control girl down for her nap…then waiting patiently for two hours, licking wounds and fortifying one's psyche for Round 2…only to have a cheerful, smiling princess emerge from her cave, bubbling over in excitement as she describes her dream of trying to drive to the grocery store and ending up in Hawaii, ready to don her Tinkerbell costume and wile away the afternoon in the kitchen with mom.
We made lemonade. We made pink lemonade bars. We made bbq chicken tacos. Simultaneously.
Without a single mishap. While wearing wings. Hers green, mine red.
She ate every bite of her dinner, without coaxing. She even declared the chicken to be delicious. Actually, she declared: "This chicken is Foolish!", which is the highest of high compliments after her prior declaration that take-out from the Foolish Chicken is the only chicken she likes.
After dinner we took Tinkerbell and Nana out for a walk while our bars cooled, where we caught a grasshopper, a beetle and a ladybug before heading back to dessert.
And my soul smiles again. It doesn't take much to destroy it, but thankfully, it only takes a few perfect moments to restore it.