Eye Don't THINK So!!

So yesterday my loving angelic little girl told me she hated me. Actually, I think her exact quote was something like, “I really HATE you, mom! And I KNOW that ‘hate’ is a strong word, but THAT’S why I’m using it! Because I HATE you!”

My reaction? I rolled my eyes and told her that she could hate me all she wants, but I wasn’t going to change my mind. So she stormed off to her room (which is a complete pigsty, personally I wouldn’t want to storm off to a place like that) and turned on KISS-FM (the teenybopper station du jour).

I guess I need to add some backstory here, huh? See, she dog-sat for cute neighbor this weekend. Which we have done before. It pretty much only includes walking Steeler a few times a day and making sure she has plenty of food and water. She doesn’t stay in our place for the whole weekend, my boys don’t appreciate the intrusion. But Lexie does let her hang out with us when we are just sitting around. Well, cute neighbor had called me before his weekend jaunt, and told me he planned on paying Lexie for her trouble. I did the old “oh-that’s-not-necessary” spiel, but he insisted, saying he’d be paying a lot more at a kennel, and besides, Lexie was earning it. True that, so I said that was fine, and I’m sure Lexie would appreciate it.

So last night cute neighbor knocks on our door (we didn’t see him when he got home Sunday – our paths kind of crossed) and he thanks Lexie and gives her $20. Which is a fortune to my daughter. She politely said thank you, and I could already hear the wheels spinning in her head as she figured out what to spend it on (a saver she is not – bad habit obviously inherited from her mother). Cute neighbor then leaves to walk Steeler, and I shut the door behind him. Lexie was all excited about her windfall, and I told her I knew cute neighbor was going to pay her, and I told him it was ok.

Then began my transformation from “awesome mom” to “evil mom.”

“Now I can buy my own makeup!” my not-quite-eleven-year-old-and-only-going-into-sixth-grade daughter said happily.

Ok, hold up here. I thought maybe I was hearing things, but then she continued.

“I have enough to get lipgloss and eyeshadow!”

I snorted. “Um, lipgloss, ok – but you are NOT getting eyeshadow.”

She looked at me like I had just grown a second head. “What?”

“I said, you are not getting eyeshadow. Lipgloss is fine, but you are not allowed to wear eyeshadow.”

“WHY NOT?”

“Because I said so.” (My favorite response EVER. It has sooo been worth having a daughter just so I can say it to her on a regular basis.)

“But everyone wears eyeshadow! It’s not like I want mascara or eyeliner!” she whined.

Ok – what? Am I to understand that mascara and/or eyeliner are somehow worse than trampy colors on my daughter’s innocent eyelids? (Not that I would let her wear those, either, of course.)

She took my silence to be acquiescence.

“So – I can get the eyeshadow?”

“No!”

“MOOOOOM!! Ok, fine, but when I go to seventh grade I will, because EVERYONE in seventh grade wears it,” she said arrogantly.

“Everyone but you, you mean. No eyeshadow. Period. Not even in seventh grade.”

“BUT WHYYYYYYYY?”

“Because it’s not necessary! You’re only ten, for chrissakes!”

“Almost eleven,” she pouted.

“I. Don’t. Care. No eyeshadow.”

Then we went through the “everyone else is” phase (over and over and over) until I asked, “Do Rachel’s parents let her wear eyeshadow?”

“Rachel has eyeshadow,” she quickly replied.

“I didn’t ask if she has it, I asked if her parents let her wear it outside the house.”

No answer from Lexie.

(See, I know Rachel’s parents well. And there is no way in HELL they would let her wear makeup outside the house. They are stricter than I am, which I love. Because every parent needs a scapegoat – someone to make their kid realize their parent isn’t the ONLY horrible one.)

“Well, WHATEVER. But she has it,” she complained.

“Fine,” I said. “You can buy eyeshadow. But you can only wear it in the house.”

“Fine,” she said quickly - erroneously smelling victory.

“AND the eyeshadow doesn’t leave this house, either,” I added.

“MOM!!” she wailed, knowing her plan to bring said eyeshadow to camp or school or wherever and apply it sans mom knowing just went up in smoke.

“Them’s the rules,” I said smugly.

Which brings us full circle.

“I really HATE you, mom! And I KNOW that ‘hate’ is a strong word, but THAT’S why I’m using it! Because I HATE you!”

All because of eyeshadow. Go figure. I mentioned the tiff to my brother, and said thoughtfully, “I don’t remember wanting to wear makeup at ten…”

He responded that he didn’t think he wanted to wear makeup at ten either. Thank God, because if he had I probably wouldn’t have a nephew right now.

Ahhh, the joys of motherhood.