My daughters are brilliant. Their intellect shines around them like… a really smart aura. Sometimes however, like most brilliant people and those being kept alive by machines that make that breathing thunk sound, they’re the ones found pushing the pull door. Attempting to exit the in. Wondering why the hell it. just. won’t. budge. no matter how hard. they. push. Even my youngest is afflicted by this periodic dive into idiocy. Still, mostly, they got it goin’ on and thus it offends me greatly when anyone suggests that they are less than Mensa material, often leading to me acting the stage mom and not the good kind. The bad kind. The kind they showcase on Bravo.
Case in point: Amy’s best friend Abigail Breslin was sitting in the back of the mini with Amy discussing whatever it is 2 girls obsessed with video games and Justin Timberlake discuss (possibly video games and JT?). Liv was sitting in her car seat diaperless because it’s only a five minute drive to Abigail Breslin’s house and she’d just peed on the kitchen floor so I knew we were good for at least 30 more minutes. (Not because I was too lazy to chase her down and wrap a diaper around her before we took the best friend who refused to spend the night home.) Aaaaaanyway, Abigail Breslin announces that the baby Asia Minor who her mom watches who just turned 2 and is therefore younger than Liv, is fully potty trained, never pees in front of the refrigerator and speaks much more clearly than our lil Liv does. Amy, the Benedict Arnold that she is, nodded.
I totally should have let it go but I had to pursue it. I had to prove that my kid was better. “Welll,” I sputtered. “Does she know sign language?! Liv knows sign language! She’s been signing for well over a year! Liv, show Abigail Breslin the sign for owl!”
Liv spread her legs and giggled.
“That’s not the sign for owl,”
“Peeka peeka *click* I godda peepee *click*.”
The girls in the back giggled, but I was alarmed. Do you know how hard it is to clean a Graco Even-flo comfort ride? You gotsta unscrew the back to get the cover off, and that pee smell doesn’t go away.
“You’re not allowed to pee in your car seat,” I reminded her. ‘Cause she’s sooo good at controlling her bodily functions.
“Asia Minor never pees in her car seat,” Abigail Breslin informed me.
“Peeka peeka butt,” Liv continued, enjoying her nudity.
“Show Abigail Breslin the sign for potty,” I tried, that desperation building.
“Peeka peeka biggidy bammel chicken nuggest and fry fries,” Liv responded.
And on it went, me demanding that she perform her little cart and pony act and Liv over and over again reminding me that she was more than a child star in the movie of my life.
“It’s okay,” Abigail Breslin said, patting my arm as she exited the mini. “I believe you.”
I watched Abigail Breslin give my youngest a sad, patient look, and then she turned and walked away. I turned to my baby. My voice hitched as I said, “You did that on purpose, didn’t ya?”
She grinned then signed, “Liv’s feeling silly.” Then she proceeded to sign every word she knows the entire trip home.