The State of Chynna vs. The Wretched Bacon


I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world
But she's just like a maze
Where all of the walls are continually changed
And I've done all I can
To stand on her steps with my heart in my hands
Now I'm starting to see
Maybe it's got nothing to do with me

Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers

Daughters -John Mayer

"Good morning, good morning, good morning, my lit-tle boys & girls! I love toseeyourfaceinthemorning, my lit-tle boys & girls!" "Oh well," I think, "it'll never be a top 40 hit, but it's better than nothing." Seasoning my downright militant weekday wake-up the troops approach with as much motherly love as possible - I realize the good cop approach is definitely not working this day. I have two boys to get to two different elementary schools on two different ends of town.....and it's almost too late! Pleasantly surprised to see 6 year old Daniel brushing his teeth, albeit with his shirt buttoned up askew and still no socks & shoes on, I suddenly realize that 4 year old Chynna's door is still closed. I must get her up soon. My stomach lurches a little. Oh, boy, this is one phase I'll be glad to eradicate from our lives. My daughter, the diva tyrant of the pre-school set.

"Dill? Dill? Dillan? Where are you son?" I'm downstairs, Momma," I hear my eldest son proclaim. 9 year old Dillan has sneakily crept down the stairs as I was passing by, no doubt, to stake his claim in his seat of choice for the morning ride to school. I'm sure he'll be informing me that he will ride shotgun and Chynna (he's taken to calling her "Chinks" lately - its time for a politically correct names only for your sister talk), while Daniel will sit in the "way back." Actually, not a bad configuration, I think, since each child sitting in a row, independent of each other makes for far less poking and teasing. I was considering a similar schematic strategy, myself, in light of the recent disastrous plastic cup travesty. Feeling my face flush just from thinking about the incident, I recall the events from last Thursday afternoon as I attempted to drive all three children home from Dillan's baseball practice - a scant 2-3 miles, though it felt like a cross-country journey. First we had Dillan giving us the minute by minute account of every player's performance, peppered with tales of his own super-human performance. Next, we have Daniel asking me, in his own little precious speech pattern, devoid of r's and most first syllables of words, imploring me to turn the car around so we can go find him that Batman action figure he simply cannot live without one moment longer. After all, didn't I fashion some sort of bargain during Dillan's practice to get hime to agree not to throw dirt at his sister. At least there was Chynna, an uncommonly precious angel quietly sitting in her booster seat, sucking her thumb and holding her favorite item of the past 6 weeks, a clear sippy cup with a built in straw that circled and swirled from the bottom to the tippy top of the shiny pink lid. My moment of weakness during last week's grocery shopping trip. All hail the magical calming powers of the round-&-round cup. As I'm driving, and shushing, and listening, and agreeing, and nodding, and turning the radio music up just a tad louder, and worrying about dinner, and wondering about a million other things...I realize a new game has started. A decidedly bad game. An evil, wretched game. Glancing into the rearview mirror while attempting a 90 degree turn, I see that Daniel has the amazing round-&-round cup, no - Dillan does. No, its definitely Daniel. Immediately, an otherworldly, guttural, primitive, head splitting scream emanates from the back seat. I have no words to describe this noise. I cannot believe the windows in the car haven't all shattered. There must surely be blood running from my ears, I think. It's her. The princess has awoken. Hell hath no fury like Chynna when she's been wronged in some way. "Boys!!!! Boys!!!!! How many times do I have to tell you about taking things away from your sister! That is HER CUP. Please give it back! Dillan! Daniel! Michael Dillan!!! Give....excuse me? What did you just say? Guh.....HEY! Gi......LISTEN!!!!!!!!! GIVE IT TO ME NOW! THIS MINUTE!" And quicker than you can say no wire hangers, I grab the cup, roll down the passenger side window, and execute an AMAZING throw of the round-&-round cup, lobbing it successfully across the wide ditch, directly into a plowed and recently planted field of what looks like cabbage. Quiet. Silence. No one daring to utter a single noise. Breathing heavily, I barrel on down this quiet little farm-to-market road, equal parts relieved to end this mayhem yet hoping my mini-nervous breakdown wouldn't scar them all for life. But, that cup - that cup would not soon forget. It would remain top side up, hot pink shiny lid glowing in the sunshine like a little piece of a rainbow trapped in the cabbage patch for weeks to come. Each time we drive past that corner, I will hear my daughter's wistful little voice whisper, "Awww. Dares my rounanroun cup, Mama." Thus, the assigned seating idea, albeit a product of Dillan's slight OCD (oldest child disorder) nature, comes to fruition. We'll tackle the therapy issue at a later date.

Now, back to the morning at hand? Passenger control is only one part of my stomach wrenching morning dilemma. Backpacks organized? Check. Breakfast ready to grab and eat in route - biscuits and bacon? Check. Shoes and socks in car? Yep. Hair gelled to oblivion and combed to the side with absolutely no alfalfa's, circa Little Ricky from "I Love Lucy"? Bingo. Ok - here we go. Like an Olympian athlete, I approach the stairs. Tentatively, I tap the bottom stair with my right big toe, as if to test it's sturdiness. Will I succeed today? Will I triumph? I must. Warrior that I am, I will not fail. On your mark, get set.....running up the stairs in record time, I turn the doorknob and enter her room. grabbing her favorite blanket with the slippery white satin ribbon trim from the foot of her bed, I pick, turn, wrap, and snuggle in one swift move. Ignoring her protests, I hold the massive tangly cloud of light brown hair against my left shoulder, aware that I can barely see where I'm walking through this super-sized bird's nest. There could be a small animal hiding in there somewhere. Down the stairs we go, more carefully this time. Through the kitchen, past the laundry room. Approaching the door to the garage, I'm so hoping the boys are already deeply into some loud argument that will upset her more. Luckily they're not. Dillan has his electronic football game going and Daniel has created little warriors out of both his fingers and toes. We're good!!!! Gently, I belt her into the little car-seat kingdom I've created in the middle seat. I plump the pillow I carry with me at all times, stretch the blanket up, and smooth the mop of slightly damp, sweaty hair over her eyes. Today, I rock at all things Mom. Today, I win. One sleepy hazely-brown eye gazes up from under amazingly black eyelashes. It crinkles. I see a lopsided smile form around the thumb in her mouth. The tiny dimple vibrates, unsure as to whether it will pop inward or stay smooth. All is good in the world. Until we get home, that is.

My sweet princess has multiple personalities. Some mornings she's all about being my perfect bambino on the way to the boys schools. On those days, however, I know my real job will start when we get home. I am so fortunate. I do not have to work. I get to stay home and organize this daily convoy twice a day. I get to wash, fold, freshen, scrub, and straighten to my hearts content. I get to put her down for a nap. I get to make fresh tea. I am so thankful - this is important to know. There are challenges, before the fortunate things, however, like the bacon. Princess Chynna does not like the smell of bacon. Sometimes, it's not even an issue. Sometimes, she refuses to leave the comfort of her throne in the middle seat. She whines, she growls, she kicks - leave me alone, she seems to say. Who goes there? Halt! No one wakes up the princess before she's ready! Be gone with you. So I leave - garage door locked tightly, car door and door into house open wide. I glance, I run back and forth every 60 seconds. I keep my eyes on her. Finally, she emerges. When I spot the silky Disney image of Esmerelda on the front of the pink nightgown, thumb still in mouth, tanned little toes firmly planted on the black and white tiles of the floor. I know what comes next. Thumb comes out. Sniff. Sniff. Eye-contact. Let the gagging begin. "Aaaaaah!" Fake gag. Fake gag. "Aaaaaaaah!" Faux cough/gag combo. OKAY. I say, firmly. YOU WIN. Out comes the magic spray. This week we're using the country potpourri scented air freshener. She seems to like this better than the powder scent we borrowed from the downstairs guest bath last week. Spray.....spray....room to room. Concentrate on the area my the stove. Concentrate on the bar area that faces the living room television. Cheerios go in the bowl. Spoon. Cup of milk. Place the princess on her favorite bar stool. Nick Jr - on. Face is here. "Little Bear next," she says, speaking for the first time today. "Yes, baby," I say defeated, having lost the battle once again, "Little Bear is next." "It smells bad, Mommy," she says, screwing up her little face and poking out a rosy, shiny bottom lip. I know, baby, I know, I think - you hate the smell of bacon, don't you. It's ok. Mommies can fix anything, even the evil smell of bacon in the morning. Why do I fight her, I wonder. She's obviously way better at this than I am. Mommy + Country Potpourri Air-Freshener = A very good, downright magical day, minus the round 'n round cup, of course. I beg your pardon. Apparently I did promise you a rose garden with no bacon.