Everyone is healthy and hearty and life goes on.
For a short and blissful while there, Chickadee was loving and cuddly and totally a Mama’s Girl. Of course, I didn’t know, in the beginning part of it, anyway, that it was largely due to the fact that she was miserable at school and had decided to hate everyone and everything… but we had some truly lovely moments while she viewed me as the best thing in her life.
Now that I’ve twisted myself inside-out and upside-down and gone to bat for her at school and the bullying situation has been (at least temporarily) resolved, however, I am back to being the stupidest, most loathsome creature she’s ever had to endure. So that’s fun.
I put pepper on her salad when I was packing her lunch and that was ALL WRONG and caused a screaming, crying fit. And I suggested she wear shorts rather than sweatpants to tumbling class, because I’m mean. And retarded. And clearly out to get her.
Mixed in with relief that she’s feeling better enough to hate me is a growing impatience, so—being the world’s greatest mother—I have informed her she can pack her own damn lunch and walk to class rather than being driven by me, respectively, because I’m not being paid enough for either of these tasks to put up with her abuse. She huffed and puffed and rolled her eyes and I swear I saw little thought bubbles filled with “I hate you,” “You never understand,” and “You suck” floating over her head.
In other words, she is back to being a typical pubescent girl and is going to be just fine.
Unless I kill her, first. (Which seems like such a waste, given what I just went through to prevent one of her classmates from doing it for me.)
In completely unrelated news, I’d like to publicly apologize to my parents for, um, all of 1982. and 1983. Ahem.