I think I have adequately established the love I feel for my daughter, Auburn Aries. I also believe I have sufficiently portrayed what type of child she is. I have opened up our lives to you with complete honesty.
I have shared my heartache and my joy where she is concerned. I’ve laughed so hard I’ve cried at some of the stunts she’s pulled. I’ve been proud of her time and time again. Every time her heart has broken, mine broke right along with it.
I sometimes walk the path of motherhood with uncertainty hoping that I’m doing the right thing. I know that generally I’m not tough enough on her. She gets away with more than I’d like her to and I know that’s my fault.
I am not the best at tough love. I thought I would be, but I’m not where she’s concerned. Several people have said they’d hate to cross me or be on my bad side – but when it comes to Aries, the same rules don’t apply.
She is part of who I am. A little human being with emotions and laughter and love, all still miracles as she discovers herself and the world around her.
This morning I was unexpectedly reminded that she is, indeed, eight years old.
“Mom, Momma Kitty keeps licking herself and won’t stop.” (Momma Kitty is Thor’s cat who has taken to lying on the top of my couch cushions – the ones behind your back).
“I know, baby, it’s what cats do.”
“But she just keeps licking and licking. It’s gross. Why is she doing that?”
“She’s cleaning herself. Cats don’t like water and they’re just built to do that.” (I guess that’s an answer. I’m not a cat person so I’m pretending to know the answer to the cat-licking question).
“Yeah, but she’s getting hair on her tongue.”
“Yeah, don’t tell me that, it’s gross.” (Though I like Thor’s cat and Fairy Godmother’s cat, I don’t particularly care for cats).
“But, Mom, how does she get the hair off her tongue? It’s not like she can go…” (picture an eight year old pretending to pull a hair off the tip of her tongue using forefinger and thumb)
“Well, honey, what happens is she gets a fur-ball all wadded up and stuck in her throat. Then when it bugs her she goes… (insert me, gagging and pumping my head forward like I’m, well, puking up a fur-ball, complete with gagging noises) and pukes it up on the carpet.”
“Oh, great, now we’re going to have to walk around looking for fur-ball puke to clean up.”
“No, Thor will.. She’s Thor’s cat. She’ll puke ‘em up downstairs.”
“Oh, no she won’t! She’s up here more than she’s down there!!!”
Kind of lost my appetite for breakfast after that conversation.
And in case that wasn't proof enough she's eight…
After Auburn Aries’ bath this morning, I helped her dry her hair and had handed her back the towel to finish drying off. I turned away to tend to something when I heard her say (through solid laughter), “Hey Mom, LOOK!”
There she stood, bath towel stuck in her butt crack. She took off running through the house like a super hero with a misplaced cape.
I started laughing so hard I couldn't quit.
She stopped, at which point I thought she was going to remove the towel. I mean, for cryin’ out loud, I immediately told her to cut it out the instant I saw it! Though I suspect laughing that hard took the power out of the request.
Instead, she put her hands above her head like a ballerina and started twirling. Big towel o’ tutu hanging out her crack (or her “butt-er” as she calls it).
“Aries” I shouted, “take that towel out of your butt crack!!!”
She put her hands down and gingerly walked toward me, towel following her like a giant tail.
When she got close enough and in one swift movement she reached around behind her, yanked the towel out of her fanny, holding it like the Statue of Liberty's torch and says, “Wanna SMELL it?!!!”
Yep, that’s my kid. It was incomprehensibly funny and a memory I’ll never forget.
I’m just curious to know what went through her head right before she tucked the towel in her ass!
And please indulge me for a moment while I apologize to my friend Hot Toddy’s Toaster Oven. I know butt humor isn’t so funny to gay men – but Ms Karma and I laughed at this story so hard we cried.