Piece Of Work

Dear Laney,

Lately you've been a real piece of work. Leading up to Halloween, you decided you wanted to dress up as a "princess doctor." "A princess or a doctor?" I asked. "A princess/doctor," you explained. I sighed. I'm going to spend the next few decades instilling in you the idea that "Girls can be anything!" And I can't really kick that campaign off by telling you princesses can't also be doctors in their spare time. Besides, I entertained myself by imagining a typical day on the calendar of a princess doctor:

At the last minute, right as I was about to turn one of your dad's white dress shirts into a princess lab coat, you agreed to compromise and be a princess/wizard. What turned the tide was that Peg Peg had bought you a light-up magic wand at Cracker Barrel, and you liked the idea of pointing it at your dad and me and telling us, "You're trapped in the ice! Don't move! You're frozen now!"

Your dad does a very good impression of someone trapped in a block of ice. I'm scared to ask, but I suspect it's because it's happened to Mr. Let-Me-Go-Missing-For-At-Least-Twenty-Four-Hours-Before-You-Call-Search-And-Rescue before. 

What tickles me to no end is that your dad is the strong, silent type, with emphasis on the "silent." Your dad could join a monastery without having to alter his daily routine too much: Keep quiet. Drink beer. Wear earth tones. Grandma Sue says that he was such a serious baby that she called him "Mr. Baby." BUT WAIT! Sprinkle a little crazy drama major dust on those serious, scientific genes, and you get:

You went in your room last night and shut the door and came out fifteen minutes later in this Honey Boo Boo-meets-Courtney Love get-up.

I will not be disappointed if Hagen turns out to be the quiet type, because between you and me, girl, this house is all stocked up on crazy.

Love,

Mom