Hurt Feelings

I have lots of other posts cued up and ready to go (well, the ideas are ready to go – I actually have to write them first). But this just happened literally 5 minutes ago.

(Side note: youth of today – this LITERALLY happened 5 minutes ago. Note the correct usage of that word. If it had happened yesterday, I would not have used literally. You did NOT “literally die” when you read that Facebook post, and you are not going to “literally throw up” if Kiley wears that dress to formal. Unless you do. And that’s just ridiculous (and, p.s., send me a picture of that dress. If it makes you ‘literally’ puke, I must see it).

Anyhoo.

I was putting clean sheets on Paige’s bed when she and Blair came in to perform one of their favorite activities. One which happens to make me a nervous wreck.

These little monkeys LOVE to jump on the bed. And all I can do is picture split lips, cracked heads and broken arms. So I sent them upstairs with their daddy for bathtime.

Paige came back in and prepared to climb back onto the bed. I asked her nicely not to (literally. I was actually nice about it. I know it’s hard to believe.). She did anyway. I bounced her off and told her to go upstairs for a bath. The following conversation ensued:

P: “Mommy, I’m not going to play with you anymore.”
M: “Okay. Because when you play, you jump on the bed. And that’s dangerous.”
P: “Mommy, then I’m not going to be your friend anymore.”
M: “Fine. If you are going to say mean things then I think I don’t want a friend like that anyway.”
P: Walking out the door “Mommy, I do NOT love you anymore.” Slam. (That little …. deep breath … she actually slammed her bedroom door?!?!).

I pretended to cry while I actually smiled and enjoyed the uninterrupted opportunity to make her bed. She knocked multiple times on the door, and when I decided she was probably sorry enough I opened it, hiding my eyes.

I then went back to her bed, anxious to quickly put the bedspread back on. And I may or may not have still been pretending to cry.

She slowly climbed up. “Here we go,” I thought. “She’s going to say she’s sorry.”

P: “Hey, Mommy?”
M: Through faux tears, “Yes?”
P: “Um, please don’t cry too hard while you make my bed. I’m afraid you’re going to frow up, and that would be disgusting.”

Wow. That’s all I have to say.

Literally.

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