Bad Rhymes at Bed Time

In pre-production for PETER PAN this weekend, so please enjoy this from earlier in the summer…

Sometime in the last couple of years Rissa and I started cracking each other’s toes.  It’s my friend Shawn’s fault.  He cracked my toes while we were in a play together (not actually during the play but rather while we were in the dressing room) and then I did it to Rissa and she giggled like a mad fool about it so it became a thing for us.  David, just in case you were wondering, wants NOTHING to do with the whole toe cracking fad. The whole process hurts, REALLY hurts, but it must be a good pain I guess, because we will beg each other to do it.  Usually at bed time.   “Mummy, will you crack my toes?  Please??”  Then I begin and she shrieks and yodels with the pain and release of the toe cracking.  Then she does mine and I’m even louder than she is.  It’s our own twisted version of This Little Piggie and it’s all a great way to end the day.

It’s Rissa’s storm before the calm.  It happens pretty much every night at bedtime.  She loses her mind a wee bit and needs to release energy before she can finally settle down.  It’s always with me.  Never with David does she turn into a complete looney bird.  Only with me.   I wonder what that signifies?

Last night was no exception.  Rissa had been off with her GrandMer and GrandEl this weekend while David and I were up at a friend’s cottage.  As is usually the case when we have been separated from Rissa for a few days – she needs to tell us absolutely everything when we see her once more – usually right away without breathing as she speaks.  Apparently it’s genetic.  I now understand why my parents used to say to me,  “Heather, BREATHE!”

I called Mom one time, hoping for commiseration.  “Mom – she NEVER stops talking.”  There was a brief pause before maniacal laughter rang out from my mother’s end of the call. 

So last night, Rissa was talking about having overheard a bunch of teenagers using an interesting bad phrase.

“What kind of phrase?” I asked.

“Penis Butt,” says Rissa.

“I’m sorry?”

She gave me a look of utter disdain.  “Mummy, I can’t SAY it.”

Right, because for the most part, my daughter is a rule follower and she’s not supposed to use bad language, so she doesn’t.

“Penis butt?”  I’m trying to work it out in my head.  “Penis butt?  Do you mean Cock-ass?”

“No Mummy.  Another bad word for penis.”

Now there are LOTS of bad words for penis.  I know many of them.  I’m not entirely sure that I should be playing this game with my 12 year old daughter.

“Schlong-Behind?  Dong-Bottom?”

“Mummy.”  Again with the disdain.

“Dick-Ass?”

“YES!!” 

Well, that made sense.  Dick-ass.  It’s colourful – doesn’t rhyme though.  Which then had me trying to make an anatomical phrase that rhymed.  Again (and I fully realize this),  NOT the best thing to be doing with my 12 year old daughter.

“PENIS-ANUS!!”

Whereupon we gales of giggles hit us.  And of course I couldn’t just leave it there.  I was in rhyming mode now.

“Vagina Angina!!”

Without a pause, Rissa came back with “Pussy-Stress??”

I gave her a look of utter shock before almost peeing myself and then giving her a high five.

“EXACTLY!!!   But you can’t use that with ANY of your friends.  Promise me!!! None of these phrases with friends!  Their parents won’t let you near them if they start sounding like dock-workers.”

Again, a look of disdain.  “Mummy.  I know that!”

Our is a different Mother-Daughter relationship.