*Disclaimer: This story DID NOT really happen. All characters are fictional.. Everyone knows my 10-year-old daughter would NEVER act like this in real life.
I've never seen anything like it.
Here we were, my mom and I and one of my daughter's friends, sitting at the dining table, enjoying some nice boiled Louisiana crabs on a Friday afternoon. My favorite. Mom's treat. Even better!
We had no idea what was coming. But come it did.
It was a flashmob. A crying, screaming, pouting, huffing, puffing, foot-stomping, door-slamming, You-Don't-Care-About-Me flashmob. Of one,
ONE, 10-year old girl, obviously in the throes of a hormonal melt-down. Or something.
Forget the Terrrible Twos. This is the Terrorizing Tweens. Lord help me.
I guess I should have seen it coming. We know she grew up fast. A lot faster than most of her peers. She may be 10 but she looks 12. She's already nearly as tall as me. She's already wearing my shoes and trying to steal my clothes. And she does have a tendency to be a drama queen at times (can you say melodramatic?)
But this ... ?
I still don't know what happened. Or why...
All I know is, one minute I was helping my daughter's friend peel a crab and find the good stuff, and the next my daughter was throwing herself on the sofa and screaming at me. Something about being too nice to her friend and not nice enough to her.
But she doesn't even like crabs!
OK. Full disclosure? I did kind of egg her on a bit. After she stomped across the hardwood floor, rattling the china in the cabinet and making the dogs run for cover, she stormed into the bedroom. I yelled after her.
"Hey! Come back! You didn't slam the door! Everybody knows you have to slam the door. It works soooo much better when you slam the door. Do you want a do-over?"
"NOOOOOOOO!" she screamed back.
A few minutes later she stomped back into the room, rattling the china again.
"Are you enjoying your dinner with your new
daughter?" she screamed at me.
Mom and I exchanged a wide-eyed stare. Then burst into laughter.
"Been there, done that," she said to me, cracking a claw for emphasis. "I remember those days. Oh boy are you in for it!"
"Oh really," I said. "I wasn't
that bad. Was I?"
"Oh," she replied, rolling her eyes heavenward. "You were terrible! You cried all the time. You were so emotional. Don't you remember?"
I had to admit, I did. And I did try to run away from home a few times, but couldn't figure out how to take all my clothes with me. And I wasn't allowed to go past the paint store a few houses down. Or cross the street.
"I remember," I said. "Sorry Mom. I love you."
"Well," she said. "Your sister was worse."
Lord help me.
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