Kid Flower Power

“Princess Flower Flower!” sounded a round voice from a pie-faced girl.
It was Abby in all her glory-- an apple green puffed sleeved dress, purple stomps (snow boots), hot pink feather boa and rhinestone crown.
“Pl--ll--lay with me,” she said, tugging at my arm and dragging me away from my email.

Oh the email box-- food for my ego and proof I exist beyond these four walls. I spend too much time here, waiting for a bunch of hellos and the joke of the day-- when there is so much laughter and so many “good morning, Mommy”’s already in my house. It’s easy to take it for granted-- the childish laughter, the thudding feet down the halls and all those plastic farm animal adventures.

And so it's time to grab my feather duster and enter the theater of make believe.

“You can be the maid who carries drinks,” she said, pulling me out of the office. “But Mommy-- Mommy Pease put on red sparkly dress?”

The red sparkly dress is not appropriate for childhood play-- no matter how endearing the characters. Backless and slit past any measure of mommy hood-- this is not the dress maids are made of.
“Not today Tinkerbelle,” I said.

“Well-- well-- can you wear something pretty?” she said. “Dress-up Mommy. You’re the maid who carries drinks and Nikki-- she can be the maid who carries food on trays.”

I wrapped a beach towel around my head and put on some black mittens. Good enough.

Let the festivities begin.
Princess Flower Flower plopped on my bed-- one arm flung to the side and the other slung across her face.
“I need (gasp) I need (gasp)-- a drink,” she said.
"Anything else your grace?" I ask.
“And --uh?-- uh?" she searches for the word. "Ummmmm-- uh--Ham samich.”

I intercept Nikki in the hall.

She’s already got her uniform on-- her prerequisite for getting out of bed red toy firefighter hat, ankle-baring too short jeans, stripped tank top and purple caplet trimmed with sequins and marabou feathers.
In her hands is -- goo-- lotion. Her hands are white and smell of gardenias-- lots of gardenias.
My living room carpet-- it’s gooey. Finger streaks of white weave through the Asian motiff- and the room? Gardenias-- lots of them.
“Nikki!" I start and then catch myself and lower my voice. It takes a great amount of effort. "We do not play in the lotion."

A dimpled grin looks back at me and then onto the bed she climbs, throwing one foot up at a time, grabbing the comforter and pulling with all her might.

“Uppy-- uppy-- Mommy” she said. I leave the Oxyclean and push her up by her tushy. She growls like a tiger and pulls her sister’s hair.
“Mo-o-om, Nikki hurted me,” Abby says The tears-- the wailing-life is ending tears-- start flying.
“No-- Abby,” Nikki said. “No!!! Play with-- Me.”
“You’re the maid Nikki,” Abby whispered. “Water-- I need fairy water -- please-- please.”
She was fading fast.

“You’re the maid,” Nikki growls, mimicing her sister in the torture of torture games. “You're the maid- hmm.”
She pulls the crown off Abby’s head and jumps on the bed. Abby bounces like wounded popcorn.
“Nikki-- nice-- no jumping,” I shout-- forgetting all maidly manners..
“Grrr-- jumping, jumping,” Nikki growls-- jump-jump and then thump-- off she went.

Anyway we had a super time. I’m sure if you have daughters you’ve watched them twirl around the room, singing little songs to themselves. You’ve served them samiches on fake silver platters and waited for the fairies to come to their party.
Just a snippet-- that’s all I’ve got today. Besides Nikki is pulling all the floss out of the plastic container and winding the cinnamon- infused string around her wrist.