“You were right; I was wrong” I grudgingly admitted to my daughter the other night just before bedtime.
She paused and looked at me wide-eyed. “Pardon?” she whispered, with fake sincerity.
I said, “I remember now. You were right – we did already agree to this over the weekend.” I hate being middle-aged – my memory sucks.
“Wait,” she continued, “I need to take this in ….” and she takes a dramatic deep breath and exhales loudly. I roll my eyes and I know that I’m in for it.
“I don’t believe this has ever happened before. This is a momentous occasion.” She is twelve years old, and yes, she used the word ‘momentous’ in a sentence. “Can I hear you say that one more time, please?”
“You were right.”
“And?” she prompted me to continue. Oh my God, this is killing me.
“I was wrong.”
I was beginning to regret the day I took her home from the hospital. I should have left her to the very large Italian family visiting the new mom sharing a room with me. They would never have noticed one more child.
“Who’s a genius?”
“Who’s your favourite daughter?” Someone please shoot me.
“What else do you want to say to me?”
“Pardon?” She was enjoying herself.
It doesn’t really matter what she was right about and what I was wrong about. I know I so deserved this. But, oh my God, did it piss me off.
“Anything else you feel the need to say to me right now?” she mocked, clearly on a roll.
“Yes.” I said. “It’s past your bedtime. If your light’s are not out in two minutes, you’re grounded.”
I still hold absolute power.