Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Making a Tea Time

Recently Mini Monkey has taken to speaking "whinese."  Every utterance that leaves her mouth is drawn out into one long, nasal sound.  This new twist makes spending any length of time with her almost painful.

Gone is my lovely, lighthearted little girl and in her place is a writhing, whining, wild child whom I barely recognize. 

The Monkey Maker and myself have been racking our brains to think of creative parenting solutions that will help guide her back to the sweet yet sassy peanut that we once knew.  We've sought council from friends, colleagues, and finally the interwebs to remedy the situation. 

After reading this article, it turns out the answer has been right there all along.  Wailing, whining, flailing, fighting for us to see her. 

Mini Monkey needed some one on one. 

This year has been the wildest of her young life.  With the birth of her brother and his narrow miss with disaster, and being lugged to gymnasiums all across the state to watch the Monster wrestle ad nauseum, it seemed that Mini had begun to feel like something of an afterthought.  And sadly, she might have been as right as rain.

So despite the fact that I too was weary of wrestling and longing for a lounge day with my laptop, I put down the computer and we had ourselves a tea party. 

I spent last Sunday morning in a diamond tiara and leopard print heels.  These complimented the pink wool scarf and name tag that I wore around my neck.  Accessorized from head to toe by Mini Monkey herself. 

She had been waiting for me to wake up.  Sitting patiently outside the bedroom door following instructions from the Monkey Maker to "let Mommy sleep." 

I opened the door and she greeted me with a beaming smile, genuine excitement.  Still wearing my pajamas and having not brushed my teeth yet, I must have been a sight to see but to her, I was perfect. 

"Mommy," She asked excitedly, "Are you ready for our tea party?"

And so we spent much of the morning together.  Setting up tea for twenty of her closest friends and furbabies.  Her Grandma, Grandpa (who is very sick), her Father, and Step-mother, all pretend people, all invited.  Her cousins, Ashley and Catelyn, and Claire were there too.  And the babies.  All the babies.

Her imagination ran wild and free. 

We told stories and drew with chalk, we fashioned ponytails and made lunch.  We swam in the hot tub, and swished in the bath.  She did my hair and we read 600 books.  She danced, I sang, we clapped and cheered and giggled like, well, like little girls. 


Despite her whiny ways in days of late, she really is the coolest little lady.  

Whether playing princess or plotting an ambush with one of her brothers, she is creative and content.  She can hold her own with the roughest and toughest of all little boys but works her high heels like nobody's business.

Surrounded by penises on all sides she is destined to spend her life falling into toilets where the seat has been left up.   Equal parts easy going and obstinate, she is a walking, talking contradiction in terms.  

She is everything good that I hope that I am and so many things that I still wish to be.  Dynamic, dexterous, dogmatic, demure and the best damn decision we EVER made.  

I absolutely adore you, Mini-Monkey.  I could not love you more.