Drinking the Whole Bottle: Mami vs. the Klingons

It was one of those mornings.

One of those mornings that I wish my name was something other than Mami.

Mami. Mami. MAmi. MamI. Mami. MamI. MAmi. MAMI. Mami. Mami. Mami. MAmi. MamI. Mami. MamI. MAmi. MAMI. Mami. Mami. Mami. MAmi. MamI. Mami. MamI. MAmi. MAMI. Mami. Mami. Mami. MAmi. MamI. Mami. MamI. MAmi. MAMI.

How many different ways could one say Mami?

How many different places could you put the accent on Mami?

And don't think I didn't respond. Don't think I was ignoring my lovely little and that's why she kept calling my name:

Mami. Mami. MAmi. MamI. Mami. MamI. MAmi. MAMI. Mami. Mami. Mami. MAmi. MamI. Mami. MamI. MAmi. MAMI. Mami. Mami. Mami. MAmi. MamI. Mami. MamI. MAmi. MAMI. Mami. Mami. Mami. MAmi. MamI. Mami. MamI. MAmi. MAMI. Mami. Mami. Mami.

Bitch, please.
I responded.
I responded plenty:

What language did she want me to respond in? Klingon? I'll tell you what - I'ma learn Klingon just to say it in Klingon too next time. Matter of fact, after just looking it up, apparently "huh" in Klingon is "Nuqjatlh" which is perfect because I could use the most ridiculous word from the most ridiculous of languages in the most ridiculous of situations.

Her: Mami. Mami. MAmi. MamI.
Me: Nuqjatlh

It was one of those mornings when I swear, my lovely Klingons where put here on Earth as repayment for the heartache and grief that I "supposedly" caused my mother (although I have yet to see real proof that I was really all that difficult).

One of those mornings where even sitting next to baby Klingon wasn't enough. If he wasn't climbing my face like a mountain and sticking his fingers into my mouth, nose, or eyeball sockets he wasn't happy. If I moved, even an inch he screamed -at way too high an octave - BloODy MurDeR! So I couldn't move even an inch. Not even an inch?! I can't move even this tiny space because I accidentally sat on a fork and the prongs are making 4 holes in my butt cheek? I can't even move off this bloody fork, really? So not even when you're playing "open the door, close the door" with your back turned to me can I move because your sense of Mami Movement is so acute that you whip your head around and look at me through owl eyes just to make sure that I haven't move, that I'm not even thinking about this move I've undoubtedly thought about making? ok. I'll stay right here, owl eyes. hoot. hoot.

It was one of those mornings when I actually tried to reason with a 2-year-old which I think makes me crazier than them, right? Because let's be honest, what ~~sane~~ (<-- lost that war a long time ago) intelligent person reasons with a 2-year-old? Rather what intelligent person reasons with a 2-year-old AND actually expects the hoped for outcome? Well, genius... a not very intelligent person at all.

Her: Mami. Mami. MAmi. MamI. Mami. MamI. MAmi. MAMI. Mami. Mami.
Me: I don't want to talk to you right now. (said very sincerely)
Her: MamI. MAmi. MAMI. Mami. Mami. Mami. MAmi. MamI. Mami. MamI.
Me: I'm not talking to you.

Seriously. I said that. I said it very calmly and very matter of factly as if I were talking to a reasonable, logical human being, which is even more ludicrous.

I said, "I don't want to talk to you right now," to my 2-year-old as if she'd understand that.

As if she'd look at me and empathetically and say, "I understand, crazy lady. You need some alone time right now. Some you time. Got it. I'll give you some space. Here, I'll even close the door."

Instead she swung her little doll arm up in the air and slapped me down my face. Oh yeah. Down my face. The slap where they graze your bottom eye lid, your nose, and your bottom lip. Yeah. That one. It's even more humbling than the slap across the face.

About this time, it was one of those mornings when I thought about how if I poked my eye out with my eyeliner no one would fault me for going to the ER and I'd be forced to spend some of my day there and wouldn't that just be delightful? A well rested break. A few hours to lay down and have people wait on me and bring me food in between a nap in a bed all to myself.

Mami. Mami. MAmi. MamI. Mami. MamI. MAmi. MAMI. Mami. Mami. Mami. MAMI.

That pencil to the eye was looking p-A-retty good.

It was one of those mornings where when nap time rolled in, I took a moment to thank God - no literally I said, "Thank you, Almighty Heavenly Father for getting me - and the Klingons - to this hour... without harm." I carried Klingon #1 to her room:

"Mami."

Oh boy. Not again. I thought. "MmHmm." I answered cautiously.

"Mami. Música, I Love You," she says which is what she calls I Will, The Beatles song I lullaby her with which is as short as is it perfectly beautiful.

I begin:

Who knows how long I've loved you.
You know I love you still...

and I hear, "steeeel." I chuckle because she's repeating my word.

Will I wait a lonely lifetime...

"Weeeee I waaay lie tie." She's not repeating. She's singing along...

...in Klingon. But nevertheless, she's singing along with the song that I told myself 20 years ago would be the lullaby I sang to my kids - before I really had any idea what it meant to have kids - and now here is this beautiful Klingon singing back my lullaby? This same Klingon who was trying to stab me in the eye with an eyeliner pencil a half hour ago with the help of her Klingon brother is now singing back my lullaby with her head nestled in my neck?