Ramona and Beezus

First I have to preface this by saying that I am an emotional movie watcher.

The first movie I ever cried at was "The Little Mermaid;" not the Disney version but the real one where she turns into sea foam.

After that first event, it was a sob fest ever after. My little brother even once qualified that a movie had to be great because, "M cried."

I never thought how obnoxious it must be to watch a movie with such a sobber; I always agreed with my mom that my dad and brothers were just insensitive clods who had less emotion than a tea cup.

My daughter is teaching me their pain.

Yesterday we watched Ramona and Beezus and when the cat died, my daughter came up to me and fell into my side crying.

"It was so sad when the cat died."

My first thought was that she was faking but then I looked at her and her lashes were wet and there were real tears on her cheeks.

I took a deep breath and found my inner patience and said a silent prayer of gratitude to God for all the years my family put up (and continues to do so) with my tears and a prayer that they find more patience because I think our sobbing club just added a new member.

****update: yeah - I totally teared up at the end of the movie. Damn family shows.

Drama Mama

I have one daughter.

She has been a crash course in all things female; I swear she came out of the womb with a tiara and full on mani-pedi.

One thing I have noticed is about her is that she is a champion whiner. Seriously. I have two boys. They, believe you me, have done their share of whining. But Eliza - she takes it to a whole 'nother level.

Today she was sick.

Hoo boy.

I'm always uncertain how much to pamper and love and cuddle and how much to tough love.

She woke me up at 3:15am, crying because she was coughing so much she couldn't sleep. I patiently took her back to bed, propped her up on lots of pillows, got her tissue to blow her nose and laid down with her (no mean feat given that she sleeps on a twin bed and last night was her turn with our 70lb black lab), my head tucked at her side and my hip grinding into the floor. When she was safely contented, I told her I was moving to the front room couch and to come get me if she needed anything. She was maybe 10 minutes behind me.

I shared the couch with her but to say we actually slept would be to use that word improperly; sort of like using "slumber" in slumber party. She moaned and whined and complained and cried and would sleep fitfully. I felt bad for her too but at 4:30am, my reserves of patience are woefully low.

I sent her to bed early tonight and I'm wondering what tomorrow holds and how patient/impatient I should be with her. She is only 7. She really doesn't feel well. But my ears . . . .