I think my daughter might be a twelve year old African American boy

A few weeks ago, Helena again requested a Facebook account and I again refused and then I asked her if this was some weird way of asking for the movie Groundhog Day for Christmas since apparently, she loves the whole concept of re-living the same moments over and over.

She ignored me and wanted to know, for the umpteenth time, why her sister could have a Facebook account when she couldn’t. And for the umpteenth time, I replied that she was ten, her sister was sixteen and with age comes certain privileges. For instance, I had to wait until I was forty-three before I could have weak bladder control, crepe paper for skin and a designer purse. She stamped her foot and cried that life wasn’t fair, that she wanted the same privileges as her sister because she had to scrub toilets and take Oliver outside to potty just as often as her sister and that should count for something, shouldn’t it? And then her sister walked by and threw a box of tampons at her head and shouted that hey, if she really wanted the same privileges as she, then how about bloating up like a burp and acting like a hemorrhage once a month? THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT.

And then Helena scowled, stomped upstairs and got dressed and we drove to the dojo where she took out her frustration by going Jackie Chan all over some boards.

I think Zoe better start thinking twice about throwing anything else at Helena’s head from now on.

Thrice, even.

Quadruple, just to be safe.

For a moment, I wondered if my little baby had morphed into Jaden Smith from The Karate Kid remake which honestly? I wouldn’t have minded because that would mean I’m his mama and have you seen Jaden’s mama? Jada Pinkett Smith is hot. I’d finally be able to wear leather pants without looking like a pissed-off sausage. And bonus! I’d get to sleep with Jaden’s daddy, Will Smith, who is smokin’ hot to the tenth power. Life would be yummy.

So much better than if Helena had morphed into Ralph Macchio from the original Karate Kid. I don’t know anything about Ralph’s parents except I think maybe his mama was Italian? Which might be nice because then maybe I could make a decent lasagna and life would still be yummy but in a totally different way.

Will Smith vs. lasagna?

Decisions, decisions.

Then again, I could just slop some bolognese sauce and gooey cheese all over Will Smith and call it a day.

A very good day.

Meanwhile, back at the reality ranch, I’m wondering if Helena thinks she can intimidate and strong-arm me into getting her own Facebook account.


She needs to read up on her opponent.

When each one of those boards represents a wrinkle or gray hair or stretch mark or a moment of I DON’T CARE WHO’S TURN IT IS, SOMEONE TAKE OLLIE OUT TO POOP OR I WILL RUN DOWN THE STREET NAKED AND TELL EVERYONE I’M YOUR MOM, then we’ll talk.

OK, peanut? In the meantime, I’m so proud of you!

If you had a Facebook account, I’d totally “like” you.



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15 thoughts on “I think my daughter might be a twelve year old African American boy”

  1. Avatar

    Am I the first to comment, or will I be the tenth person by the time I quit typing?!? Hmm… My son LOVES Will Smith. I like him, too, but not in that special way, ya know? I’d like to invite him over for dinner. I wouldn’t touch him, though – Jada could kick my flabby ass without even breaking a sweat.

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    Fabulous board breaking, Helena! And we loved the new Karate Kid as well (of course, we adore everything Jackie)–but that was a way fun movie. You should have seen Allen jumping around like a bean at the end, all curled up angles with his leg sticking in the air in odd directions…

    I still have a strangely beautiful scar around my wrist from breaking a board with a heel-of-the-hand strike many years ago. You can really see how the hand was turning as it struck… sliced a nice little spiral in there. =)

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    Wow, impressive. I was wondering what happened to all those pieces of wood ;p You are a crack up – I love your line of reasoning leading to a happy life with Will Smith! Great post!

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    Okay, so first: Awesome! My little peanut just started karate a few months ago. She can’t wait to “break stuff” like Daddy used to… I’m kinda nervous. But seeing those pictures? Awesome.

    Second. Will Smith. Seriously. Stouffer’s makes a decent lasagna if you want to eat at home, and honestly Will Smith could *buy* you your own Italian restaurant… so there is no decision to be made here. Will Smith, hands down. 🙂

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      Omgosh, I had to laugh at this, Stan! I can only presume you’re kidding, because my photography is so bad, I don’t think they’ve invented a word for it yet. Although abysmal comes pretty close. I was messing around so much with my manual settings that night that by the time I was done, I had no idea what the heck I was doing. I had scribbled down some notes from the guys at Rowe Photo and some people on the 2peas photography board and that helped me a bit but even so, I had to fix these photos in Photoshop before I’d even post them.

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        No, wasn’t kidding- really. No, reallllly. I liked them a lot. Good action sequences and the end shot is priceless. You forget the two rules of professionals I taught you in our digital photography class – 1) a pro photographer’s shots are always great – because we take so many some will be good ( and don’t show or acknowledge the bad ones) and 2) Photoshop is my friend (just like the darkroom or a good pro lab used to be). So your shots are really good – accept the praise and get on with it.
        You can accept praise, right?

        On another note – Threading your eyebrows? Really? Really? Sometimes I just don’t understand….

        Stan (the one with the bushy eyebrows) White

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    We have the same arguments over here with my boys…well, sorta. Less about Facebook and more about Grand Theft Auto IV, Medal of Honor or whatever the newest game with the most violence, bloodshed, foul language and yes, even sexual content. The arguing gets SO old, doesn’t it? I’ve tried a new approach. It’s the “Brain Dead” technique and I got it from…can’t believe I’m admitting this… the LOVE and LOGIC Parenting workshop that I recently attended. Now when my oldest (who is 11) tries to “reel me in” to one of his inane arguments I simply repeat “Honey, I love you too much to argue” followed by “let’s talk later when you have something different to discuss” like a broken record, until he gets so frustrated that steam comes out of his ears due to my lack of active participation in the conversation, as well as my lack of emotion. Usually, after about 3 minutes he huffs, puffs, and stomps off into the sunset (or his room). I have to admit, I love watching him lose his cool when I have kept mine. Tee hee.

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    None of her dates ever better get fresh with her…lol

    She is already prepared to kick some butt & she’s only twelve…by the time she is ready to date…she will be able to decapitate them with her bare hands.

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