The first tornado of the year in this state was ten miles away from my house. I refuse to share this with the baby chicken as I'm sure she would have the realtor on speed-dial. I can hear the digusted tone now. It was threatening to rain last night, and she slept with the flashlight. She was mad at the principal of the school for ushering them to the safe room under false pretenses.
"She told us we were going to look at the room. THEN...when we got there...she said we were under a tornado warning." I kept my snickering to myself.
The baby chicken is a forty-year old in a nine year-old's body. Skip the frills and silliness. That girl is all business.
She tore a hole in her favorite pants the other day at the school gym. I received the phone call around noon. This is how it went.
B: Mama. I ripped my pants in the gym on something. I need new pants.
M: Okay. What happened?
B: I don't know. But I am not happy. These were my favorite pants.
M: Sorry, sugar. Okay. I'm in your room. Where are the pants you want?
B: In the closet. We've all been doing our jobs and hanging up our clothes.
M: Ummm...what are these clothes on the floor for?
B: I don't have enough hangers.
M: I'm not seeing anything here.
B: Check the blue laundry basket. That's where the clothes are waiting to be hung up.
M: Ok. I found some. Good thing you called now. I'll just throw on a bra and a top and bring these to you.
B: You're naked?
At this point in time, I didn't want to know where she was calling from, or who was in the room with her.
B: (Giggling) I'll be waiting for you.
When baby chicken is unhappy, she is "not pleased." When she thinks someone is clueless, they "don't have a concept." She's easily bored. She's ambidextrous. And she's lots of fun. I pity the fool that tangles with her.
10 months ago