The Artist just took the Cowgirl to her piano lessons and the Dancer went along to make sure she did not miss anything fun like a stoplight or a passing pick up truck or a road construction sign.
So that means I'm alone.
Gloriously, quietly alone. Doesn't happen often.
And today's question is:
Do you think parents have a favorite child?
That's a question that haunted me every time I got less skittles than my siblings, or my parents left me at church (yep, it happened).
Now I am a parent and I find myself worrying about it whenever I feel a preference to be with one child. But I think I have an honest answer.
Yes. I have a favorite. It just changes constantly.
When I am confronted with this:
I prefer this:
When I get a big heaping of this:
I prefer this:
When I need nonsense and an elfish face that can make my day, I go to the Dancer.
When I need a gentle soul to spend some quiet time with and talk about life, I go to the Cowgirl.
The Cowgirl gets in less trouble, but sulks so much when she does that I would kind of prefer death by cheese grater.
The Dancer gets in tons of trouble but recovers from it so cheerfully that I forget what she did wrong almost as fast as she does. Almost.
And sometimes I am perfectly fair (If I can reach you, I will spank you. You should see that one clear a room. I haven't acted on it yet, but I must say it with conviction because they lickety split every time.)
So the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth is that they constantly take turns being my favorite.
And lucky thing there is only one "Mudder" (that is how the Dancer says it) because I get to be their favorite all the time.
When I'm nice.
I'm working on it.