My youngest likes to add an “a” to the end of words. Mostly verbs. So we get things like: “I hugga da’ puppy”, “No changa da’ bum”, and “Let me fila da’ tax forms” (when it comes to money management around here, she’s the best we’ve got).
She, very frequently, does not respond to repeated (and repeated, and repeated) calls of her name. I’m pretty sure the name we’ve given her isn’t her name. Now I’m wondering, given her treatment of the English language, if we should have settled on an Italian name.
I don’t like to be touched all that much. One of my quotes in my high school senior yearbook is “Don’t touch me”. My mother still says this to me mockingly whenever she puts her arm around my shoulders and I reflexively flinch. My purpose here is not to delve into my own psyche, I share this merely to lay the groundwork for the following:
I am the Miley Cyrus* of my household.
I seem to be immensely popular with little girls aged 2-5 years who live within my home. I can’t go anywhere in my house without being followed by one or two of them – often screaming. I can’t sit anywhere without being crawled upon. I can barely get through the night without a crazed “fan” wanting to crawl into bed with me. It is exhausting (without the benefit of being hospitalized for exhaustion as some celebrities find themselves in the lucky position of being — can you imagine being given the gift of doctor mandated rest? Ahhh). Thank goodness they only have one play camera and only one of them can effectively use it. Having flashes constantly going off in my face would just be over the top.
As my first paragraph would indicate, being adored has it’s drawbacks for me. There are a few people in my life who aren’t put on the ‘no-touch list’, my husband and children being the primary people given a pass. But there are moments and days when I long for the rise in my husband’s fame from Canadian TV star to Justin Bieber, so that I might sit in peace.
In the meantime, who wants my autograph?
*Please note, I use Miley Cyrus as a comparison for her current level of fame — all comparisons between her, her antics (award show or otherwise), her clothing choices for sitting on wrecking balls (notably her birthday suit) and I end with that one comparison alone. Ok, ok, my hairdresser did shave the sides and back of my hair UNDERNEATH hair that came down to my cheek, merely so it would lie right. I really have no idea what she was thinking, and in reality it was long enough to pull back into a Brad Taylor kind of thing, so again, no comparison to Miley (kudos to anyone who gets the Brad Taylor reference – yous my peeps).