I have a problem and she is about two feet tall.  My little Zoë.  Four years old and enough feistiness to drive her weary Mum to the brink of insanity.  Don’t get me wrong-I adore her to bits and I am in awe of her intense character, her budding spirit, and strong sense of who she is.   She is a wee little thing but she packs a HUGE figurative punch.   I am just a bit concerned because she tests me practically every waking moment of the day and she is slowly gaining on me.  At the moment, I can outwit her but I am not sure for how long this will last.  I can win the battle of the willpowers for NOW, but I am almost certain that I am going to have a full head of gray hair next year due to that child.

On one hand, she is the light of my life-her chuckle and her belly laugh are totally infectious and she constantly has me in stitches with her remarkable sense of humor and cleverness.  I can already see that she is going to be my artist-she marches to the beat of her own funky drum and that is fine by me, really and truly.  Also, her fiery red curls and those piercing blue eyes are just plain captivating.  And when Zoë gives you a hug, she totally and completely envelops you.  Sunshine love, that’s my Z.  When Z smiles, her whole face is enveloped by her grin.  Those cheeks could hide a thousand acorns in them, they are so lusciously round and jolly.  Her eyes literally almost disappear when she is joyously grinning from ear to ear.  It is impossible not to be mesmerized by her when she is feeling cheerful.

On the flip side.  When Zoë is not feeling it, she is, (forgive me for I have sinned!) a stinky beast.  It is slightly terrifying just how quickly she can go from cherubic angel to growling ogre.  In a matter of seconds and faster than I can say WTF, my sweet little Wizzie can body-chop herself onto the floor in a blood-curdling, screaming, kicking, frenzied mess.  This can be the result of something as simple as Z not wanting to drink her water or if she wanted to wear a particular pair of shoes that I nixed.  Or, she gets that “I’m gonna take you down”, more calculated look on her face and I know that I am in for it.

It then becomes the war of whoever can hold out the longest.  And here is my concern-I can see her wearing me down in the long run.  For now, I have time, wisdom, and a glass of wine on my side as a reward for winning the battle.  However, she has been known to have a tantrum that goes on for more than an hour and I am not sure if I will always have the stamina to hang in there.

And it’s not just her fury that frustrates me and bewilders her Dad.  She is one rascally little nut.  She will test us till the cows come home.  Case in point-she LICKS things in public.  Like, gross, nasty, I-should-go-and-wipe-her-down-head-to-toe-with-sanitizing-cleanser disgusting.  When we went to Belgium last year, we had a layover at the airport in Casablanca, Morocco.  Z sauntered over and picked a piece of chewed gum off the nasty floor and proceeded to begin licking it like a lollipop.  She was three or four highly-involved licks into her experience when I ran over and grabbed the slobbered gum out of her hands.  Or the time where we were staying in a rather nice hotel in London and I discovered her licking the gilded mirror in the lobby in front of about 20 rather horrified tourists.  If it weren’t so darn gross, it would be almost hilarious.  I cannot, to be honest, tell the story without a twinge of a smile creeping up on me.  I just can’t help it.

Now, Z is also not just incredibly cheeky.  She is also terribly accident-prone.

Case in point.  Today, we drove to the beach with friends.  Although we had a lovely time, Z managed to careen herself blindly into the head of our friend’s son, nearly knocking out her two front teeth.  Lots of blood, a possibly severely injured gum, and yup, we are off again to the dentist today to see if she damaged the nerves in her teeth.  And that was five minutes into our beach day extravaganza.  Big old fat sigh.  Two hours later, she dropped a glass of juice on my foot.  Yes, ‘twas not smart to let her have a glass cup, I know.  What can I say, I was having a glass of wine and my guard was down!

f Of course, the cup broke and shattered glass everywhere, leaving me just slightly scathed with a tiny cut on my toe and a BIG ‘ol frustrated reaction.

When we first arrived in Senegal, within a day she had cut her head open requiring eight stitches.  How did she do it?  She pulled down a VERY large stereo speaker onto her head at the home of Sacha’s new colleague.  We are not making new friends this way, let’s just say.  This sort of thing happens quite regularly to Z, though.  Just a few days ago, she poked herself quite professionally in the eye with a pencil while attempting a rocket lift-off with her older sister.  The eye doctor was quite impressed with her injury.  Of course, Mia walked away totally unscathed and cool as a cucumber.  Z, on the other hand, still has the lead mark from the pencil poke (and it was a good one) in her eye.  She has inadvertently given herself black eyes, bloody noses, massive bruises, and a whole lot of boo-boos in her short four years of existence.

Soooooooo, this Mama is little fatigued of the drama that seems to follow my wee Z around.  I was just gazing at her as she slept last night, wondering how such a little body could create so much kerfuffle.  And I came to the conclusion that I wouldn’t change one little sassy red curl on her even if I could.  She is kooky, she is cheeky, but she is all mine and she is my sunshine.









One response »

  1. Tara, Your Blog is AbFab! Love the Z story. Red Head? Middle child? A delight to read! However, they do make Bach’s Rescue Remedy for children. Good for tummyaches and tantrums……..keep in mind! Staying tuned………Slap!

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