INT. GROCERY STORE – DAY
TWO sits contentedly in the seat of the cart, neither complaining, nor begging. (Double success.) She plays Temple Run on her mother’s iPhone (double failure) and bursts into song about how much she loves the woman who took it upon herself to birth stretch marks while birthing her. (Success. You-Can’t-Touch-this-Success.)
TWO: I love my mommy so much. (Success.) She is so sweet. (True. Success.) She loves me. (She believes it. Success.) She takes care of me when I fall down. (Full-time success.) She makes me sandwiches. (Daily success.) She reads me stories and sings songs with me. (So true. Triple-success score for inspiring unprompted ditties.) I love the way she hugs me and kisses me all the time. (Ahhhh. Contented success. More song, please.) She listens to me (Errrr…success for playing it off.) I hope one day she will be just like meeeeeeeeeee…
And like the sad, sad perfectionist that she is (acknowledged failure), this pathetic specimen of a mother cannot just glory in all of the other kind words sung by a devoted daughter. No. She must know why there is a blemish on her otherwise excellent report. (Deep-rooted failure.) She must ask:
ME: Like you? Don’t you mean you want to be like me? (Embarrassing failure.)
TWO: No. I want you to be like me.
ME: Why?
TWO: So you won’t have to be on the computer all the time. You’ll just play with me. (Reoccurring failure.)
Maybe the mother should start claiming that the computer is really a sibling to her daughters. Then maybe her computer time will be considered “family time.” (Extreme failure for even thinking this.) And of course she can’t leave it alone. Even though she really should. She made an effort, she played at least once this week. She wants it to be recognized. (There are no success left to offset the remaining failures.)
ME: What? But we played…
The mother struggles to remember what they played. She fails. Still, she cannot let it go.
ME: I played…I mean, we played…don’t you remember what we played last week?
TWO: Oh, Mama!
And with that, the child stops singing and turns her attention back to the little computer in her hands. Engaging in a game that is surely not meant for a child her age, she tunes out the rest of the world, just as she’s been taught.
The computer. The mother’s crack. Her hiding place. Her downfall. Now her 4YO’s as well.
FAILURE. Game over.
© 2012 CEK. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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{ 4 comments }
Oh. God. You just nailed all of my fears with my own blog/pinterest/etc. addiction.
Hey, at least she didn’t tell her whole class, “I love my mommy because she buys me sugary snacks!”
I don’t think you’re a failure at all. My Mom used to read books instead of play with me and I turned out just fine. :)
No, you aren’t a failure. If I recall correctly – my mom NEVER played with us. We learned to amuse ourselves. While yes, it is a good thing to give your child some attention; is it really the best thing for them to be smothered with your attention? In my opinion, children do need to learn independence and how to amuse themselves.