Me 2.1

Me 2.1

August 8, 2010, 11:52 pm
Filed under: Anti-Peeves | Tags: annoying, anti-peeve, better than you, camera, children, drive me up the wall, grating, i am from poem, modeling, mother, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, poetry, pre-teen, sarcastic, smart-ass, vent

Apologies, I am my mother’s daughter.  When I said I had a post coming late Friday night, what I really meant was almost midnight on Sunday.  I’ve spent the weekend touring kiddie jump places and drinking vodka.  Don’t judge. 

Last Wednesday, I had a wonderful dinner with a fellow blogger and photographer (she would probably protest me calling her that, but her pictures speak for themselves) – Katie from You Are What You Eat… or, Reheat.  She was taking pictures of Biggie and Smalls because, of course, while they jump up and down and simultaneously cross their eyes every time I’m behind the camera, when it’s a stranger they are all blinking eyelashes and smiles.  

Katie (to Biggie): You are so pretty, you take great pictures, you could be a model. 

Biggie:  Actually, I’m going to be a marine biologist. 

Peeved’s Friend (yes, I have at least 1): Well, you could model to pay for school to be a marine biologist. 

Peeved:  Yeah, mommy modeled a little when I was in high school.  You could do that. 

Biggie:  You?  Modeled?  [giggle fit] 

Peeved:  Yes.  And, I wouldn’t laugh if I was you.  You look just like me when I was your age.  I wasn’t always old, you know. 

Biggie:  Yeah, I look just like you.  But, prettier. 

Well, at least we don’t have to worry about self-esteem issues.  Biggie is my mini-me in more ways than just looks, she also inherited my smart-ass attitude and ability to tell the honest truth.  To prove to her that she does, in fact, look like me when I was her age, I pulled out some old photos.  She chose the photo of me that she thought looked most like her and recreated the look for a photo shoot.  

Me 1.0

 

Me 2.1 (Now, new and improved)

 

The next day, we were sitting down for dinner. I had just picked up Biggie from school and she was telling me about her day.  

Peeved: How was school today? 

Biggie:  Good.  Another boy asked me out. (This is the 4th in the past week.) 

Peeved:  Oh, did you make him fill out the survey your stepdad requires? 

Biggie: Nah, he wasn’t worth it.  Guess what? 

Peeved: What? 

Biggie:  I wrote the best poem ever.  You want to hear it? 

Peeved:  Sure… (getting on the game face…) 

Biggie:  Okay, the assignment was to tell where you are from. 

Peeved:  All right, bring on the ode to Long Island pizza. 

Biggie:  No, mom, this is really good.  It’s the best poem, like, in the world. 

I am from chlorinated pools, from law firms and from the restaurant business. 

I am from the little, one story house. Small, comforting and the one that I sleep in. 

I am from the venus fly trap outside, by the tree.  Vicious, yet gentle in its own way. 

I am from smudging my name on my cake and loud laughing. From [dad’s name] and Emily.  I’m from the spoiled brats and mean little cousins. 

I am from will you trust me. 

I am from sleeping late and then eating and falling asleep again. 

I am from many cousins and family members.  From flan and cheese eggs. 

Biggie:  So, what’d you think? 

Peeved:  I think that was the best poem, in the whole wide world. Like, ever. 

Yep, like me, only prettier, more confident, less modest.  Me at 12 years old. 

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