Occasionally I find myself laughing about all the ways I’ve changed (or haven’t) since my daughter came into the world. I remember all the sleepless nights when she was first born; singing Christmas carols and Beatles’ songs to her as lullabies to get her to fall asleep. This took at least an hour every night. She was fairly fussy; cried all the time — sometimes because she couldn’t stand me putting a blanket over her feet (still can’t); sometimes because I dared to put her down instead of holding her for hours on end; other times because… well, who knows.
All the while, I would tell her how I couldn’t wait for her to grow up and share with me all the thoughts she was thinking. I knew her mind was working overtime and she was just bursting with insightful, creative ideas. As she has grown, I’ve enjoyed watching her imagination take shape through dance, singing and drawing. There are many things we have in common, but… of course, she has a mind of her own.
Please allow me to share with you a few conversations I’ve been privileged to have with my darling daughter over the past few years:
A recent conversation went like this….
“Yes, my Sweet Banana.” Momo at your service.
“Ugh! My name isn’t Sweet Banana.”
Oh, that’s right. I forgot I didn’t name you after fruit. (No offense, Gwyneth and Chris. Love ya!) “Sorry, Sweet Potato.”
“I don’t wanna be called that either.”
“So, what should I call you then?”
“Who in the world is Sarah?”
“Me. I like that name.”
“What’s wrong with your real name?”
“I just want to be called Sarah for a while. Not always.”
“OK. How may I help you, Sarah?”
Silence. Then pouting. Then, “Arrrggghhh!!!”
“What’s wrong, Sweet Banana?”
“You took too long!!! Now I don’t renumber [sic] what I was going to say!”
Dreamy-eyed and wistful about her first boyfriend, who she hasn’t seen or heard from in more than a year (I don’t know who she gets this kind of behavior from… heh, heh), my daughter sighed, “I love my Landy.”
Landy is her nickname for a blonde-haired, blue-eyed(?) boy who used to look out for her on the school playground, keeping her safe from the other kids in class. He asked her to marry him and gave her a ring. They now attend different schools.
I thought over my response carefully, “Well, once I dated a boy named Paul.”
Her eyes lit up and she gasped excitedly.
Being that this response was a little unusual, it dawned on me that I needed to clarify something. “It was not Paul McCartney.”
Her reaction? A smiling, yet disappointed, “Bah!”
I was innocently grooving along to a pop song while approaching a red light in my car. My daughter, not usually a backseat driver, suddenly shouted, “No, no, no, no, no, Mommy!”
I looked around for traffic violations. Saw none. “What’s wrong?” I asked her.
“No dancing or singing in the car. Someone might see you.”
Well, I’ve got some news for you, little lady. Not only could someone possibly look over right now and see me… but since I’ve been dancing and singing in the car for YEARS, I’m guessing lots of people have seen me do this by now. In other words, your warning has come just a bit too late.
“But I like to sing and dance,” I told her, unaware of what was to come next.
She became gravely unhappy. Gravely.
Yet… a few moments later — when we arrived at our local Target — we began dancing and singing our way down every aisle, as usual. Apparently, my daughter doesn’t think that the people in actual proximity to us mind the singing and dancing as much as the drivers out on the road do. So… you are forewarned:
COMING SOON TO A TARGET STORE NEAR YOU:
It’s the Momo & Sweet Banana Show!
Enjoy your day, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing. 😉