This morning, I went to wake my five year old daughter and was greeted like this:
"Mom, you need to sign my permission slip right now, because I think you're too lazy"
And then, just a little bit later, she says "Ohmigosh, what happened here?" panicked, pointing to a small red piece of broken plastic. I replied, "oh, what it that?" Disgusted, she scoffed, "ugh, mom, of course you know. Don't ask that." "Baby, I really don't know what that is." Stomps up the stairs with important piece of red plastic in her hand.
She's been crying easily lately. Over things that would ordinarily not make her cry. She answers questions with questions, and she's generally horrified by my parental behavior. I know she's devastated that Thursday is the last day of school, but I'm not good at these guessing games. Give me a "I'm sad about...." anyday over this miserable emotional rollercoaster that we're on.
I think my per-pre-pre-teenage daughter is already giving me an ulcer. How old is it again when you're supposed to appreciate your mother? Surely I won't have to wait until she's thirty until she likes me again - I don't think I have the stomach for that.