Bossypants

“And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister,
Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends. For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.” ~ Tina Fey, Bossypants

My kids for sure would call me Miss Bossypants.
There's not a doubt in my mind.
I can just imagine them, huddled together, whispering to each other behind their hands, giving me the stink-eye.
"Just look at her. She thinks she's all that. Never lets us do anything fun. I don't know why she has to say No all the time. Probably wouldn't even recognize Fun if it bit her in the ass."
Look...
There are things I know I do well in life:
For instance, I can bake super good desserts. In addition, I am embarrassingly good at celebrity trivia. Also, I have my morning routine down to super-hero timing - I can do my hair and make-up in 8.5 minutes flat. The extra 30 seconds is for hairspray application. Not bad for a working mom of 4.
There are also things I know I do NOT do well in life:
I do not know how to operate a grill, either charcoal or gas. I'm too afraid I will blow myself up to even attempt it. I do not know how to change a tire (sorry Dad, I know you tried.) I also do not know how to keep my opinions to myself in certain situations.
And there are things that I consider a work in progress:
Parallel parking
Math
Methods of Parenting
It's the last one that I need to remember is a lifelong skill that needs to be fine-tuned and adjusted as needed.
When my kids were little I could safely kick back into the Assembly Line Method with all four of them - feed, give baths, brush teeth, read stories, put to bed. Rinse and repeat every night. It was always a lot of work but there was comfort in that routine. No surprises, nothing much out of the ordinary unless you count an occasional, "Oh my gosh mom he pooped in the tub!"
Then they got older.
Now the routines include sports, after school activities, hanging out with friends. Everything is changing.
One of the most important things I've learned is I cannot treat my children the same. It's impossible. They are four different human beings, with distinct personalities and characteristics. What works on one will not work on another.
During the last few years, each of my kids have morphed into their own special character.
Let me introduce you to my cast:
First we have The Kitty Cat. This is my oldest, my 15 year old daughter. For the most part, she takes care of things by herself. A lot of the time she flies under the radar. She's lovely. Moves through our lives rather stealth-like and quiet. However - rub her the wrong way and you will end up hissed at, with claws shown, and a strange sense you should sleep with one eye open.
Then we have The Pistol. This is my 13 year old daughter. In and of itself a beautiful object to look at and admire. Shiny. Strong. But handle her wrong and accidentally pull the trigger...you could end up with a hole in your foot, and wondering what the hell just happened.
I refer to my 10 year old daughter as The Negotiator. After years of watching her sisters ask for things, this daughter has her system down pat. She knows exactly what works with her mother. She can start a conversation by wanting to experiment on me with makeup techniques she learned on YouTube, to which I'll steadfastly refuse. "I can't. I'm late for work! You know better than to ask me something like that." Within two minutes I'll have my hair pulled back and I'm looking in a mirror and telling her, "Ok, but wash the zebra stripes off my lower lip before I leave for work. I have a meeting at 10."
Finally we have my 8 year old son, The Trailblazer. Trying to raise a boy after three girls is always a new experience. It's not just his outdoor plumbing that makes him different....his entire personality is defined by his Y chromosome. He likes dirt and video games and sports. He has absolutely zero interest in most girl things.
So this is what I've learned:
I can't treat the Kitty Cat like I treat the Pistol. Nor can I discipline the Negotiator and the Trailblazer the same. Whenever I try to hand down a blanket punishment, I am theoretically hissed at, shot at, lectured and assaulted with a foam football.
And that is one of the best things I've learned as a mother - there is no successful cookie-cutter method of parenting.
Sure, I can boss them around as much as I want (not sure it works as well as I'd like to think), but my little cookies are pretty special.
Especially since they put up with their mama, Litte Miss Bossy.