Drama Queen, Young and Sweet

Last week was my first week back to teaching after a two-week Spring Break (WOOHOO!  COCKTAILS!  SKINNY DIPPING!  PARTY TIME!!  Oh, wait.  I'm 32 and have two kids.  Make that, WOOHOO!  ORGANIZING!  PAINTING!  BIRTHDAY PARTY PLANNING!  Yes, it's a wild life I lead.) and the girls had a bit of a rough time adjusting to Mommy leaving the house without them again.  It might seem a little silly that after only two weeks, they somehow forgot I have a job, but I guess when you consider that two weeks is, like, a full one percent of the time Ellie has been alive...well, it still doesn't seem like much, does it?  (Also, don't check my math.) 

Well, whatever.  They were shocked and appalled to get up Wednesday morning and find me dressed and packing a lunch, instead of under my covers mumbling that I'll get them some milk and turn on their shows in "just a minute..."   There were tears and promises to miss me all day, and I drove off with their sad little faces waving pitifully to me from Keira's bedroom window.  

While I was gone, Keira used Ellie's new Leap Pad to film video diaries of the intense melancholia caused by my absence (with a tour of the house, some bodily function humor, and a great deal of giggling mingled in for good measure).  Have I mentioned before that our firstborn is a wee bit of a drama queen? 

Little did I know the extent of the drama she is capable of manufacturing, right there in her skinny little 5-year-old body!  On Thursday morning, she informed me that after I had snuggled with her at bedtime Wednesday night, she was so sad that I "left her" (to go on a three-month safari?  No.  To go on a two-week cruise?  Nuh-uh.  To go ALL THE WAY OUT TO THE LIVING ROOM to watch some Mommy Shows?  Yep, that's the one.) that she sat awake writing me little notes to find when I came in to check on her that night. 

Unfortunately for Keira, checking on the girls consists of Bear or me peeking our heads in to make sure each of them is a) in her bed, b) breathing, and c) comfortable.  There are no checks for d) sweetly melodramatic little love notes scattered all over the floor next to her bed.  But alas, when I was informed of their existence, I ventured off to her prison of sadness room and found...well, see for yourself.

 Oh, that's sweet.

 "I am so sad that you left me."  Aww...that's kind of pitiful.

Okay.  This is the part where I am a horrible parent (and so is Bear--you're not off the hook here, husband!!), because one look at this one sent both of us into peals of hysterical laughter.  My thoughts are as follows: 

1)  Tears are SHOOTING OUT OF HER FACE.  As if she's a SpongeBob character. 

2)  Why is she writing her S's backwards lately?  Must fix that.  (Hey, I'm a teacher! I can't help it!) 

3)  Aww, my little girl was sad.  Sooooooo sad, to be exact.  That makes me sad.  And also, apparently, a little bit amused.  Oops.

"I love you Mom.  I know that you just snuggled me but I still want you to snuggle me again.  I love you Mom.  I love you sooooo much."  Awww...that one's back to just plain cute. 

"I am thinking about you tonight.  No matter where you are I will always miss you."

Is it wrong that I heard The Police's "Every Breath You Take" in the background of my mind as I read this one...and that a teeny, tiny bit of me had the sudden urge to get a restraining order against my child?  I mean, I was IN THE LIVING ROOM, people.  Not deployed to Afghanistan.  Seriously, sitting 30 feet away (again, don't check my math--I particularly suck at estimating distance) watching "The Voice" and pondering how Adam Levine manages to be attractive even though he has way too many tattoos and really needs to eat a few cheeseburgers.  And there was Keira, sitting alone in her room, penning what might have turned out to be a complete opera of ultimate sadness, if only she were able to keep her eyes open past 9pm.  Look out, R. Kelly.  "Trapped in the Bedroom (No Snuggles For Me)" is in the works, and since Keira can rhyme even better than you can, you're in for some real competition!

Thankfully, the girls seem to have settled back into the "Mommy goes to work a measly 2-3 days a week and it's a pretty sweet gig, so none of us can really complain" groove, and I'm reasonably sure neither of them will suffer a permanent abandonment complex over this. 

Reasonably sure.

Addendum:  It has been brought to my attention that the paper onto which Keira poured her soul appears to be phallic-shaped.  My friends were no doubt thinking, "Well, of course the kind of person who gives her 5-year-old penis-shaped writing paper would also laugh at her child's sadness."  Rest assured, they came from a t-shirt shaped pad of paper (I think), but since it probably came from the dollar store, it's a little misshapen (and also upside down).  You can't get 90-degree angles for under a buck, sillies. 

Also, do note that Bear and I did not laugh at the tear-shooting picture in front of Keira; we saved our silent, doubled-over cackling for after she went to her prison of sadness bed for the night.  We're not THAT mean.