Always Blame The Mother

Oldest Daughter & I were discussing how many phones she's had over the last 2 years that she's had a phone. Six. Six! I'll save you from reading that twice...In TWO YEARS, she has had SIX phones.

She has a habit of dropping her phone. She's dropped it in the various boring ways there are to drop a phone but the worst was the public toilet at the county fair because she actually reached in to retrieve it. I wouldn't go near her all night because I could see the cooties on her. Seriously, when cooties flip me the bird, I know better than to get close.

She broke her phone so many times the phone insurance company actually cut us off. They sent a hand dandy cheerful little letter telling us that we've reported too many damaged phones belonging to that particular number so they were denying any future claims for a year. A year is a long time when you are naturally not a graceful person.

Oldest Daughter is known for how ungraceful she is. I have witnessed with my own two eyes this child eating dinner, just sitting on a chair, only her arm & mouth moving. And boom. On the floor. She fell out of a chair without moving her body.

Daughter has also tripped over things only cats can see (I've decided cats can see things humans can't, they're that special--and like Wikipedia, if I say it's true then it is). I mean, walking, left foot, right foot, left foot, oh crap there's an air pocket there! Down on her face.

She has also inherited from me the oh so humiliating ability to fall up the stairs. Because falling down stairs is so, you know, for normal people. As we're going up steps, our bodies prefer to lurch forward & continue going up the steps but in a very non-traditional butt first way. It's quite the sight, I've been told.

The reason we were discussing how many phones she's had is because she wants a new phone for her Birthday next month. It's the big One Five. That deserves an Android. At least in her world it does. In my world the person that's responsible for her 15 years of existence deserves a bottle of Riesling. What? That's me? Good thing that's my favorite wine. (Anyone who would like to contribute to Daughter's B-day may send sealed bottles of Riesling to my address.)

So I tell #1 Daughter, "Dear lovely child who my world revolves around," (no, I didn't say that, but I'm sure it's what she heard because she's spoiled beyond words) "you've broken so many phones..."

Daughter, "Well, it's not really my fault."

Me, "No? The phone jumps from your hand?" Okay, one time it wasn't her fault. A fat girl...I don't know why the "fat" part has to be added to this story, but every time it's brought up, Daughter says that...who didn't like Daughter walked up behind her & slapped Daughter's phone out of her hand so it fell down like, 326 flights of bleacher steps at a football game. Apparently Fat Girl didn't just dislike Daughter, she also had it out for me because she knew I'd have to pay the $50 insurance claim to get a new phone. I just know she was out for both of us. Damn you, Fat Girl.

Daughter, "It's your fault. You're the one that made a klutzy child. If you had made a child that wasn't klutzy, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

This conversation's score...Mama: 0 Daughter: 1