Needless to say, we got us plenty of girl drama around here.
Girl drama in our house, girl drama on the bus, girl drama at a cafeteria table…
Girl drama in the choir, girl drama on the block…
We got us girl drama morning, noon, and night.
Don’t get me wrong, my own girl supplies all kinds of drama, but apparently part of being a girl’s mama includes dealing with OTHER girls’ drama. Frequently. While using the diplomacy skills of a U.S. Ambassador.
(I’d like to state my objection for the record: NOWHERE in the parenting gig handbook did it say I would have to handle other girls’ hormonal outbursts. This seems unreasonable, especially since my own child provides more than enough drama to keep this mama busy.)
Man, what I wouldn’t give to have a good segue to “llama” here…
But I think one of my favorite Girl Drama moments thus far happened last month. In an unusual turn of events, there weren’t even any girls present at my house that day. The closest one was at least four houses away, and yet…drama. In my home. In my hand.
It presented itself via technology. Specifically, by text.
Yes, that’s right.
I received a Girl Drama TEXT. Not from my OWN child, mind you, but from another girl she plays with sometimes.
Give me a moment to compose myself. I find the memory of this giggle-inducing.
Okay. So, not only does this child text me — and excuse me, but on what planet is it appropriate for you to text my phone? I’ll help with that. IT’S NOT. You are a child. I am an adult. My number is in your phone because my daughter used it to call home, girly girl, NOT so you could iMessage me.
Anyway, not only does she text me Girl Drama but it’s a Tattle Text as well.
(This would be clearly evidenced by her beginning statement: “I don’t want to be a tattle tale but…”)
Stop. Just stop right there. You don’t want to be a tattletale? Great. Then don’t.
But if you’re going to ignore your better instincts and tattle anyway, then you’d damned well better not use my phone number to do it. Put on your walking shoes and come on over, baby.
Seriously. If your name comes across my screen you’d better be calling for one of three reasons: you’d like to know if Bear can do something, you’re asking if the two of you can have more play time, or Bear is bleeding in the street. That’s it. Any recreational or tattletale texting from this point forward is going to result in my (hypothetical) foot up your (hypothetical) ass.
So. Back to the text (which has very conveniently been saved in my phone so I have a handy-dandy reference tool). In one fell swoop this child managed to tattle on both T-man and Bear, as well as adding that her feelings have been hurt. The only thing missing was the little tear faced emoji.
Okay, I know I’m coming across as a bitch. And I swear, if you’d ever seen me in action with these kids and conflict resolution on our front porch you would know I typically show an extraordinary amount of patience. I can mediate children’s arguments like a beast. AND, had she come to our house to talk then I’m sure I would have walked them all through the process.
By choosing to send this (forgive me, Lord) whiny, tattletale text to me she lost any chance she had for the “Okay, now let’s try to see this from ____’s perspective, what kind of feelings do you think SHE’S having right now?” approach. Instead we’re left with the reaction that actually happened:
- What the hell is this?
- NO, SHE DIDN’T. NO, SHE DIDN’T!!
- SHE DID NOT JUST TEXT MY PHONE TO TATTLE.
(Except she did.)
The giggle-inducing effect came several days later.
Please tell me you’ve seen Despicable Me 2. This reference will make so much more sense if you have…(If not, check out this YouTube clip of the scene. The subtitles bug me, but you’ve really gotta hear the voice to get the full effect. At :26 seconds you can hear “Lipstick Taserrrrr!!!” in all its glory.)
Anyway, after a few days went by and the enraged disbelief withdrew (as it typically does), suddenly all I could hear when I thought about it was “GIRL Dramaaaaa!!”
This is now my internal soundtrack when things become a little heated around the house.
Meltdown over laundry not done? “GIRL Dramaaaaa!!”
Pain and torment over the chicken crock pot dinner? “GIRL Dramaaaaa!!”
Cries of frustration over (fill in the item missing here)? “GIRL Dramaaaaa!!”
Having my own Lucy Wilde narration in my head totally makes the girl drama just a little funnier and therefore a bit more bearable.
I know this makes me sound a little crazy-cakes, but hey…a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.