I Am Not A Napkin
Around this time of year I generally do a bit of reflecting about all the things that I am...a mother, a wife, a sister, a daughter, a friend. I think about these positions, the expectations that come with them, how I'm filling them, and I look for areas where improvements can be made.
It's also inevitable that I think about things that I'm not. This year, there's one particular thing that I am not, but my child can't seem to get it into her head that this is the case.
My Daughter: "Momma, I need something to wipe my hands."
Me: "I'll get you a napkin."
My Daughter: (Silence. Walks over to me and wipes her hands on my pants or sweater or whatever article of clothing has been most recently dry cleaned. She's got an uncanny ability to pick that item above all others.) "Never mind."
Me: "Why did you just do that? Do I look like a napkin!"
My Daughter: "Yes."
Me: "Well, I'm not a napkin."
My Daughter: "Yes you are." (She then breaks into fits of giggles.)
And so it goes. Again, and again. She doesn't seem to lose her sense of humor over this repetitive little scene.
Sure, there was likely a period of time in my life, many years ago, when I was a willing participant in this entry-level post, but at that point I was only four years old, and my smears were self-inflicted. When I was about six years old, it's likely that I was a napkin as well, as my younger brother may have been trying me out as such, in addition to his own napkin-ness. There was plenty of mud, glue and pudding to go around and I was still ok sharing in the fun.
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