I have a ring, a $5 cubic zirconia ring that I wear exclusively because it is (along with the emergency mini-boxes of raisins and sticks of sugar-free gum in my purse) part of my bag of tricks for when I’m stuck in traffic or waiting in line with my girls. Look! You can wear my ring! is usually good for 10-15 minutes of entertainment value at such times. (I’m pretty sure that there’s a codicil to Murphy’s Law which states that if you loan your children your real engagement ring, they will drop it down the car seat cushions, forcing you to spend an hour ripping the car apart to find it. That $5 CZ ring? Has not been so much as misplaced. Not even once.)
Now, Vivienne, my youngest, is very into asking me ‘why’. I know most children go through the ‘why’ phase sometime between 2 and 3–but for her it started before she turned 2 and now at just-turned-3 shows no signs of passing, such that I’m starting to think of it as more of a personality trait. She is just a girl who always wants to know the whys and wherefores of most every detail of our lives. So. The other day in the car, she asked me, “Mama, why do you have your ring?” And I, in that I-am-simultaneously-concentrating-on-crazy-traffic-and-wondering-what-to-cook-for-dinner-and-have-approximately-three-spare-brain cells-to-come-up-with-a-satisfying-answer, said, completely off-the-cuff: “So that I can pretend I’m a princess.”
Well. It’s so funny and completely unpredictable what will make a big, lasting impression on your kids. My off-the-cuff answer made a HUGE impression on Vivi. She now refers to the ring with wide-eyed-wonderment as my ‘princess ring.’ Which the other night resulted in this exchange, when I was called in to help her in the bathroom. (Apologies in advance for the mild bathroom humor; this was just way too funny not to share).
Vivi, catching sight of my ring: Oooh, Mama, are you pretending to be a princess right now?
Me: Yep, that’s right. In fact, you should probably start calling me ‘Princess Mama’
Vivi, apparently following a script sent directly from the gods of comedic punchlines. And no, I swear I am not making this up: Princess Mama, can you wipe my bottom?
And that, my friends, is the great, quintessential truth of motherhood: pretend you’re a princess all you want, but the–ahem–job description remains pretty much the same. And really, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I may not exactly love all parts of the job equally, but I do love that every part of the job is mine. And hey, occasionally getting called Princess Mama never hurt anyone.
This entry was posted Wednesday, October 31st, 2012 at 10:42 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.