On any given day I can expect to be referenced as mom or mother by Cheyenne. I am sure she calls me other things as well when I am not around. On a rare occasion she will call me mommy – typically that comes packaged in the phrase, “I love you mommy!”
Ah yes, I know manipulation when I hear it. That phrase is typically tied to another phrase that begins with, “I want…” or “Can I…” or “I accidentally…” – then, as predictable as the delivery of the mail, comes the mommy. All of this is delivered with her head cocked, her most angelic face, a sweet smile, and an upbeat childlike voice.
When I am referred to as mom or mother it is in an exasperated and often annoyed tone that is delivered with eye rolls, deep sighs and a raspy voice that sounds like she just ate a toad. There is no smile, no angelic face to take in – just disdain and functionality (mostly in that order).
So when I hear mommy from Cheyenne it definitely stands out. But this isn’t my first rodeo and even though Cheyenne is the baby of the family I am not inclined to ignore the reality of what is going on. I have come to refer to this approach as the mom-me because it always has to do with one of Cheyenne’s personal agendas. I am the mom and she is the me – hence mom-me.
I told her last night that I was on to this approach, that I wasn’t born yesterday, that I was clued into the 411 – you get the point. She was not dissuaded by my smack-down…indeed, a bit later she tried the mom-me in regard to something she wanted. It didn’t work, but I must confess I had to stifle a smile. Her delivery was impeccable.
I know eventually the mom-me will fade into the background. She’ll come up with another tactic to sugarcoat future agenda items; and while I won’t miss the attempt at manipulation I will miss the angelic face, sweet smile and upbeat childlike voice. For now I will soak them in knowing full well what they are and giving in just often enough to keep them coming for awhile longer. Hey, two can play this manipulation game…better to hear a “mom-me” generated because of a somewhat diabolical intent than an exasperated “mother” delivered with a sneer. Like I said, not my first rodeo.
Day nine hundred and twelve of the new forty – obla di obla da