The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Monarch

I used to think I'd never be one of those mothers who is always 'shushing' their child or who outright ignores them, but sometimes there is too much of the chipmunk voice in my head, I adore her, think she's as brilliant as any mother is prone to, but when I'm trying to focus on something, there is just no way to find the 'off' button. The incessant questions, the nonsensical babble, the stories that go on forever in which the plot abruptly changes without my noticing. She sings, she yimmers and she yammers, does my wee Kitty Kat, and sometimes, without intention, I lose it.

Today, she meandered into my room just as I curled up under the comforter on my sheetless bed. I had intended to sneak a nap, having attempted to do so four times this past week and each time I was interrupted before I closed my eyes. It's like she and M. have some kind of warning system that alerts them when I lay down. So, she hopped up on my bed and began the usual chattering until I realized my efforts for relaxation were futile and I agreed to go construct a railroad for the train set in her room. That gave way to princess dresses in the tiny chest by her closet, to hunting for lost socks under the bed and dresser, to her bossing me around by telling me she was the reigning Queen of Katrionaland and I was a lowly peasant in velour sweatpants. This was the point where my head began to vibrate and I told her not to follow me into my room, Mommyworld, where the bed is always soft and warm and children are strictly forbidden. She tried to follow, talked her way to my room, and at that point I turned her around and made it clear that the conversation was done. She looked hurt, but she went away and I got an hour of unconsciousness all to myself.

Then, it was time to make dinner. I pulled out four pieces of salmon for the oven and started to mince spinach for the rice and red bean concoction I came up with last week that M. loves. In the midst of the flurry of mincing, salting and chopping, I caught my wee one's tiny face watching me intently. Every mean thing I've felt or thought over the past day immediately evaporated, like a wet footprint in a ray of sun. I scooped her up, kissed her tiny face and twirled her around the kitchen.

'I'm sorry I was so grumpy earlier, but you have to know that I always love you and always want to be with you. You're my girl.'

I kissed her jam-smeared cheek and she wrapped her arms around my neck with the ferocity of a grizzly bear.

'It's okay, mom. I know I talk a lot and that it makes you crazy. It's just that Cookie Monster and Sid the Science Kid say that it's always important to ask questions, so I do, whenever one pops in my head.'

'Yes,' I smiled, kissing her again, 'you should always ask questions, and don't let my grumpy face stop you.'

'Your face was pretty grumpy,' she nodded, 'but you're always pretty to me.'

And just like that, I was the beautiful, happy peasant in Katrionaland.