Monday, February 2, 2009

Queen of the Mess... and the Princess of Tidy

I have a confession to make: much of my Queen of the Mess status is actually earned through clumsiness, rather than cleverness as I led you to believe last week.

Though I do have a reputation for thinking up wildly fun and messy activities for the little crazies, including a recent Finger Paint Footprint Dance Party (don't tell dad!), most of the real messes are accidents. And tonight, I got a serious, and quite deserved, scolding from Princess Tidy.

Before settling in to read Maya her bedtime books, I ushered her to the W.C. for the nightly rituals. While she brushed her teeth, I reached for a jar of moisturizer (I'm nearing 30, ya know). As poor Maya innocently brushed her teeth with her Disney princess toothbrush covered in Disney princess toothpaste (they make a killing, don't they), my hands slipped on the jar.

It went flying. End over end over end. It landed right side up at the foot of her little step stool. That might seem lucky. In fact, it would have been, if the contents of the jar hadn't splattered all over the bathroom, covering Maya's Disney princess jammies (honestly, if I never saw another princess again....), hair, and even her eyelashes in little white droplets of overpriced night cream.

Maya froze, except for a slight movement of her mouth, which formed a perfect pout around her toothbrush. She eyed me oh so seriously. After removing her toothbrush she said, sigh, "Mama," sigh, "what AM I going to do with you?"

I started giggling, even as I mopped up the mess. Maya just kept right on going. "Mama," sigh, "I TOLD you to be careful with that. It's really nice stuff."

I was openly laughing at her, the mess, everything, but still, she went on. "Mama," sigh, "If you do this again, I'm really going to have to tell daddy."

At this point I was hysterical. I had moved on to my second hand towel, cleaning goo off the floor and counters, all the while saying "I'm sorry," and "Yes, I'll be more careful next time," between fits of laughter.

As I rummaged through the still unfolded laundry for a new set of jammies (non-Disney, thankfully), I couldn't help but feel a little relief. Maya's nothing but mimicry, at age three and a half. And apparently, as an angry mom, I tend to sigh a lot, and speak with an eery calm. Exactly what I was going for... Excellent!

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