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My Children Are The Mini-Samantha Bees Of Children

Brown gold.

 

…by which I mean, my children LOVE to do impressions. Of me.

Hilarious, charming, terrifying, spot on, (did I mention terrifying?) impressions of … me.

And let me tell you, a person, maybe even a person like me, can learn a lot from this … ahem, lesson in humility.

For instance, a person can learn a lot about the myriad of ways in which their words will come back to haunt them. Excuse me. I meant to say ‘will most definitely learn about the myriad of ways in which their words will come back to haunt them.’

They (me) will learn precisely how much they actually curse in front of their children, even though they could have sworn to The Sweet Baby Jesus himself that they never did that. They might also learn how much coffee they actually drink, despite the fact that they are smug and claim to only drink one cup a day.

Also, they learn that they sound ridiculous when they are mad, and that they make dumb faces when they put on mascara, even though they always thought their makeup face was kind of sexy and fierce. Guess what? It’s not.

What I’m saying is: let’s get to know each other better.

Here I am, in a nutshell, as performed by my children.

1. The two-year-old’s impression of me: COME ON!!!!! AWW, GUYS!!! COME ON!!!! (Hands thrown up in the air with mock exasperation, as if surveying a landscape littered with tiny Playmobil swords, cracker crumbs, and little pieces of torn up toilet paper intended as the nesting for a dolly bed. Hands on hips, followed by head in hands. Seems close to tears.)

*The Takeaway: my children see me in a state of perpetual exasperation. I’m not going to argue with it.

2. The six-year -old’s impression of me: FOLLOW. THE. RULES. WE. HAVE. RULES. WE. ARE. NOT. WILD. ANIMALS. (accompanied by bugged out eyeballs and, as in the previous flattering impression of me, hands on hips.)

But there’s also this: (in a singsong voice, while prancing around the house in a pair of my high heeled shoes) Look at ME, I’m Samantha BEE. Loo-loo-la-la-LA-LA!! I work on THE TV!! OoooH!

*The Takeaway: Not sure what to do about these. Maybe I need to start drinking Magnesium to help me relax. Maybe I need to stop prancing around the house in my high heels talking about myself in a singsongy voice.

3. The four-year-old’s impression of me: (takes empty coffee cup, simulates drinking coffee like it’s the last remaining drop of liquid on Earth, crosses his eyes and pretends he’s drunk on coffee) COFFEE! I NEED MORE COFFEE! I NEED TO GO WATCH BREAKING BAD.

*The Takeaway: No takeaway required. This is a one hundred percent accurate depiction of me.

Nice to meet you.

 

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Check out other posts by  Sam and Allana:

Oh yeah, I bought that minivan all right

In which I contemplate moving to the suburbs

In which I wean the last of the babies and cry nonstop for two weeks

 

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