I managed to successfully explain that while Hope’s first impressions of her camp counselor may be valid, first impressions cut both ways. Her counselor didn’t seem impressed either. She got the message and hopefully tomorrow will be a “do over.”
I actually remembered to take her to get a Slurpee that was originally scheduled for Sunday-Funday that turned into Ickday. She was delighted that I remembered and that she got a treat off schedule.
I probably could’ve handled the confrontation over adequacy of The Furry One’s walk today. The building concierge called, apologizing for intervening, but thought I should know that Hope stood in one spot to “walk” the dog, right by the back door in violation of the rules and the spirit of walking the dog. I got the call before she even got back to our front door, which she entered with a ready-made story about how The Furry One didn’t want to walk despite her best efforts. Her story was the stuff that guilt is made of. I tried to be gentle, but when she threw down the “Oh, so you don’t believe me?” line I honestly said “Nope.” We then bounced into a bit of a tirade that I could’ve handled better. Meh.
Her latest spasm drama…I have yet to see one spasm, not one. So I have refused to indulge it; which just made Hope dig in further insisting that she was having spasms and that they hurt her and that they were going to kill her. This drama just made me dig in more that I would ignore these imaginary body pulses.
Well, Mary Poppins, our amazing “minder” (sitter is so juvenile, right?), catered to Hope’s sick girl whims while I was out. She pressed pressure points; did several rounds of ice compresses and cooed and coddled. Mary knew that there was nothing wrong with Hope, but she also knew that the best way to treat this “illness” was to give Hope the attention that I refused to give.
I didn’t want to; selfishly, I was happy to head out to see my concert tonight and leave the “I’m dying and you don’t even care” drama behind. On the way home I remembered our bet and how furious Hope was that I was not taking her to see Beyonce and Jay-Z (never mind the semester of a college fund that I spent on Katy Perry and Bruno Mars tickets…). I also remembered that this was the first time I would be out this late and expected her to be in bed when I got home. She just wanted me to “take care of her,” and she defaulted to a bag of tricks that used to work on a bunch of other people—faking being ill for attention.
It wouldn’t have killed me to budge and coddle her a bit before I left. I’ll try to have more patience next time, even if I loathe indulging these behaviors at all.
On The Run
A good friend and I hit the Baltimore edition of the One The Run tour tonight. Great, yet odd concert. Here are my random musings in order of their appearance in my head…
The scenery up in this joint….enough ratchet-piece theater to last me a while.
Jay Z is only here so that Beyonce has someone to do something during her costume changes.
Jay Z’s costume changes only seem to involve a fresh new t-shirt, ball cap, sneaks and a new chain…and maybe a ski mask. Did a stylist get paid for this?
Beyonce makes me think that all weaves should come with a wind machine.
I mean really how many leotards does one girl need?
Oh, a onesie with the butt out…#princediditalready #yawn #yonce
OK, maybe not *all* weaves re: that wind machine comment…. can’t cosign some of the foolishness walking around this stadium. Smh
Oh she does wear pants sometimes. Is that a wedding pantsuit…? There’s a veil. I’m confused.
You have no idea how badly I want to put this dude in front of me on YouTube. Lolol #concertfunnies
Leaving before the finale means accidentally seeing Bey and Jay leaving the venue straight from the stage with a police escort. They must be sweaty. #motorcadejustlikeobama #handsupandwave
Now I’ve got to finish detangling my hair, twist it and grab a couple hours of snooze under the dryer. Why did I decide to wash my hair at 1am?? Tomorrow is going to hurt.