Togetherness

So lately the Fiend and I have been experiencing a lot of togetherness.  Babydaddy is going through a bit of a rough patch and doesn’t feel that he has a stable place to bring her to.  My routine of Tuesday and Friday nights off is, for the moment, disrupted.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with my daughter.  I have also really come to appreciate time away from my daughter.  Some events in the past few weeks of togetherness have led me to believe that she might have come to appreciate her time away from me.

There is a really fantastic gallery in town which hosts all sorts of wonderful exhibits and puts on great shows.  For their 1000th event they threw open their doors to all.  There was a giant game of Twister.  There was a mural painting project.  There was silk screening.

The Fiend and I being the hip chicks that we are naturally attended said event.  Unfortunately while at the gallery we hit critical mass of togetherness.  We had grown weary of each others company. 

The early hours of the event were populated with happy artistic families with their beautiful ruddy cheeked angels basking in the glow of their familial contentment.  Children were giggling and zooming about.  Couples were holding hands and beaming at each other.

The Fiend and I created the contrast to the otherwise idyllic scene.  First, she was dressed all in black.  Head to toe.  She was even wearing a black beret.  Have I mentioned that she’s five?

Second, we could not agree on what to do.  Nor could we come to a compromise.  When I finally begrudgingly acquiesced to the Fiend’s desire to start with Twister, we were both grumpy about it.  Surrounded by these cherubic children and there proud parents, we scowled our way through the first few calls.  Then the Fiend says, loudly, “Mom, get your butt out of my face!”

My highly mature reply was, “Get your face out of my butt!”

I noticed that after this exchange the other families on the board were doing there best to find ways to detanglethemselves from us and move farther away.  We both eventually gave up on Twister, much to all the other players’ relief.

We tried painting for awhile.  The Fiend didn’t like anything she did and kept wanting to paint different tiles.  I kept trying to explain that each tile was a piece of a larger mural and that she shouldn’t swipe a paintbrush across it twice and want a new one.  She responded by stomping her foot and scowling.  Unfortunately her stomp landed on my foot.  I let forth a stream of inappropriate semi-expletives.  We decided it was time to move on to something else.

There was a pack of wild toddlers carousing through the gallery at that point.  My amazonian daughter asked if she could join in the revelries.  I agreed but asked to to remember that she was much bigger and stronger than the other kids.  I brought our t-shirts over to where the silk screening was going down keeping an ever-watchful eye on the Fiend.

It took six times longer to complete the silkscreen than it should have due to the number of times that I had to remind the Fiend that running full tilt at someone with half your body mass is only appropriate when engaging in hand to hand combat.  I’m pretty sure the adorable 3 year old boy who would have been on the receiving end of the Fienda train was not looking for a fight.  Maybe she was simply having the same gag reflex reaction to cute, well behaved children that I was having to happy, well-adjusted couples.

There was a table laid out with soups, breads and baked goods.  The suggested donation was $5.  I hadn’t brought any money.  The Fiend wanted to eat.  I explained the lack of cash.  She frowned and thought for a moment.  And then she said, with feeling, “I’m sick of your face!”

It was time to leave.  We bundled up against the chill air and set off down the road to our car.  The walk was very very quiet.  We got into the car and set off homeward.  The Fiend broke the silence as we neared our destination.  “I love you Mom, but I just don’t love you that much.”

So much togetherness.