CoAbode

Pseudo Mom, By Lori Hughes

Mornings are new beginnings, each moment is a fresh start. And sometimes it's a hangover from last night's discontent. My Pseudo-daughter woke up cross and insisted she would not go to school. I, of course, insisted that she would. She knew I wasn't kidding but victory was not without its price. Breakfast turned into a negotiation. "I'll make you an egg." "I want cereal!" I gave in. "But we don't have the kind I want" she complained. "Then you can't have it, can you?" She ate an egg... slowly. I was dressed and had her clothes ready by the time she finished but she was chasing the cat. When it finally escaped into the back yard I snagged my little treasure and offered to brush her hair. She spied the pants and sweater laid out on the bed, crossed her arms tightly, a scowl on her face. "What's wrong?" I asked. "I'm not wearing those!" She kicked her foot in the direction of the bed. Apparently, pants were simply out of the question. She was, and still is, a total fashionista and whenever I need to update my wardrobe, she's the one I turn to. I tried to explain that we were having a typically Californian cold snap... a single month of frosty mornings and gloomy afternoons that required warm clothes if one wanted to play outside, which I knew she liked to do. Still she refused. I pressed the point. Until I realized we were having a classic case of the dreaded contest of wills. She had me on the ropes already. I had allowed it to descend into the "Oh yes you will-Oh-no-I-won't" phase of negotiations and checkmate was a mere move or two away... odds in her favor. She had already won. If I had jammed her into a pair of pants against her will my defeat would have been more devastating. "Fine. Which dress do you want to wear? And you will take a sweater to school." Of course I carried it in to the school and hung it on her personal coat hook because she wouldn't touch it.

Her superiority thus established we quickly fell into a daily routine. A comfortable balance between the silent treatment and gleeful misbehaving. I did my share of both. But despite these twists and turns, these gnarly curves around which we built our new Pseudo-relationship, we had not lost our knack for perfect companionship. With the back of her head jammed up against my nose, we curled up together in front of the TV watching reruns of The Patty Duke Show or The Wizard of Oz (she had memorized all the dialogue for both). Her mother often complained that she could not curl up comfortably with her daughter in the "right" position because the kid never sat still and mom couldn't see the TV. (I couldn't convince mom that this was, in fact, the correct pose... you are the chair... be the chair) I didn't care. I'd already seen every episode of The Patty Duke Show and it hadn't changed so what's to see? Half of The Wizard of Oz is in black and white and the munchkins didn't do it for me anymore... the music didn't need to be seen to be appreciated. Besides, she'd be in bed soon and I could watch a hockey game then. Maybe that's the difference for a Pseudo-mom. Quality time is just being there, smelling their freshly shampooed, still slightly wet hair and being the chair... no pressure to interact. Just be. Very Zen. Very tired. Good time to take a nap.