This weather is CRAZY, yo! I took Emma to Dr. McMeltme this morning and when we left it was raining and 41 degrees. Within 6 minutes the temperature dropped almost 10 degrees and it was practically a blizzard outside. Did I mention that it's APRIL?! I had to drop her at school wearing John's hat and gloves, which were luckily in the van. That is to say that *I* was wearing the hat and gloves - it was a little chilly when I opened the van door and pushed her out into the blinding snow.
Oh please - obviously I'm kidding! EMMA was wearing the hat and gloves. But I did push her.
We are not morning people. "Burniston" is derived from the Latin word "Burr" meaning "stay in bed, it's cold outside!" and "Istonia", meaning "irresponsible late-night TV-watching."
So when I dragged myself out of bed this morning, already too late to accomplish the proper level of primping for Dr. McMeltme, I was not pleased to find Emma in a grump-funk.
ME: (yawning) Emma, go get dressed and stop stomping and hmmphing. Nobody wants to hear it. Karl - do you want to hear a bunch of hmmphing from Emma this morning?
ME: Neither do I.
Now at this point Emma had a choice. She really should have taken one look at my sleepy-yet-fiery eyes and zipped it, pronto. But, instead, she chose . . . poorly.
EMMA: (folding her arms, stomping her feet, looking at me defiantly . . .) HMMPH!!!
ME: Hey! That will be enough of that! Who do you think is in charge here? And here's a hint - it isn't YOU!
EMMA: (with an innocence that was both wide-eyed and utterly false) Daddy?
Oh no she dih-un't?!
Oh yes, she did!
You know that scene from Nine to Five where Violet fantasizes about how she'd kill the boss by putting poison in his coffee while wearing a Snow White outfit and frolicking with cartoon woodland creatures? And then she skips down the hall in her ballet slippers and presents the poisoned coffee to the boss and he drinks it? And then his head starts spinning around and his eyes bulge out and steam comes out of his ears?
Yeah, that pretty much describes me after Emma said that thing about John being in charge.
Luckily, I'm an adult. I can rise above the petty goading of a third-grader and act with role-modelish maturity.
ME: Well I guess Daddy can make your dinner from now on then!!
Oooh, ZING! Did you see how I zinged her? High five!!
EMMA: Well at least Daddy isn't MEAN to me when I'm feeling a little GRUMPY in the morning!!
I can't believe I was totally out-zinged by an 8-year-old. I think in my shock I may have managed to mutter something about her tone and reminded her to be respectful around adults, but mostly I was reeling from the harsh realization that Emma is, in fact, Mini-Me.
Yes, I have cloned myself. She shows every promise to be my protege for all things sarcastic. There were earlier signs, of course, but the true significance of her quickened wit didn't really sink in until this morning. It was like the balloon of my "Emma's so SWEET!" delusion floated up towards the popcorn ceiling and burst, sending little rubber shards of the doe-eyed darling floating casually to the floor while the air grew sticky with snark.
No really, go ahead and re-read it. That's some dayum good almost-poetic prose, no? "The air grew sticky with snark" - pure jenius!
What ever made me think that Emma could stay Jane Bennett when she is being raised by Janeane Garofalo? (Only I'm not as short, don't smoke, and my humor-pH is probably around 5 or 6, only slightly acidic, whereas Janeane's humor-pH is negative-one.) Emma's not benefiting from any wholesomeness coaching in the Daddy department, either. John has been known to tell visiting children that their parents sold them to us. *sigh*
I think we just have to face it - Emma has found her inner snark. May it serve her well!
REQOTD (Emma: handing over a snack bag of chips Here, Dad - you can have the rest. John: Thanks! Hey, the bag is empty! Emma: giggle.)