Bubba

Every now and then one of the girls stands out from the crowd, and sparkles a little extra. Maybe I shouldn’t say sparkles, that might give the reader the impression that she was being extra angelic lately and that isn’t the case at all. In fact, she’s been horrid. Nothing unusual or uncharacteristic for her age (she’s 7). She forgets everything I say within 30 seconds and manages to always do the exact opposite (what are the chances?)

Anyhow, I gave M1 the spotlight a while back, because she was sparkling and now the light will shine on G1.

Did I mention she’s horrid?

She also happens to be amazing. Why are kids like that? As long as her amazing-ness outshines her horrid-ness, she stays out of trouble. Lately she’s been walking a fine line.

I should mention that she started calling herself Bubba when she was two and it just stuck. I realize Bubba isn’t a feminine nickname. I swear it has nothing to do with the fact that I knew in my heart that she was a boy until 3 weeks before she was born. Mothers have instincts, OK. And I do think it would be funny if a boy tattooed Bubba on himself as a tribute to her love. However, I can’t picture a boy worthy and handsome enough saying “I love you Bubba.”

Anyhow, she’s been recycling lately. Each kid has her own financial niche, M1 runs a dog-sitting business and stray dog rescue, E1 shakes us down for babysitting cash, and swindles the littler ones in exchange for trinkets. M2 unfortunately gets paid for being cute and so far the two little ones haven’t found jobs yet, but they’ve got feelers out there and they’re good at networking so I’m not concerned.

Bubba’s got all the neighbors putting their recyclables into crates that she swaps out and empties for them. She’s got my husband’s friends delivering bags and bags full of aluminum cans, plastic bottles and glass bottles. She has like 7 garbage cans all sorted along the side of the driveway. Whenever anyone throws anything away, she grills us to see if we looked for a recycling symbol.

I’m not complaining, 7 garbage cans along the side of the driveway, whatever. My princess is a trash digger, whatever. We’ve even got a rubbermaid bin in the back of the car because there’s always some kind of recyclable garbage in a public parking lot. I’m now packing baby wipes, because I think purell is really overkill.

When she was 3 she liked to wear formal dresses every day. I gave up on regular clothes and bought a bunch of second hand flower girl dresses at Value Village. I didn’t even dry clean them, ever. When she was 4 she went through a period of recurring fevers, every 4-6 weeks she’d shoot up really hot and have nightmares about black things.

She was raised by her sisters. When she was less than 1 we lived in Iowa and I worked full time while she stayed home with her dad and sisters, watching shrek. A lot. When she was 2 1/2 we opened the restaurant and her older sisters (9 and 6) took care of her sometimes in our office and sometimes at home. I am sure they didn’t have stringent TV rules either.

That’s one of the things she’s horrid about right now, reciting the snotty songs and music she hears on TV. I’m trying to reclaim her by banning the television and reading her good books. She’s loving the extra time, and the stories. Last night we read from Little House on the Prairie. Laura has a tendency to be naughty, too. Anne of Green Gables also has a naughty streak. I like discussing misbehavior without blame. I like that in literature she can be exposed to the other person’s perspective.

Shes a bold little girl. She likes gardening, she goes outside in her jammies to sit in the sun each morning before she even eats. She likes construction, she uses power tools and lumber scraps to build things. She built me a little “laptop stand” and even stained it. She worships her Daddy, he can do no wrong. She invents sandwiches all the time. They usually have cream cheese in them. She apologizes to me and it makes me wonder why I ever got angry to begin with. (Then I remember, it was probably her screeching scream) She’s unique. The other day we went hiking (gentle, stroller-pushing on the nature trail hiking.) She “forgot” her shoes, so I made her hike barefoot. I would have given her my flip flops but she never complained. Instead, she said “I love the warm dirt.” When all the other kids complained about our restaurant business, she loved it. She bawled when we closed. She’s still upset about it. She wants to be the president of the company when she grows up. Her other option is to own a coffee and muffin shop. It’s no wonder, she was born in the kitchen. When she lost her first tooth, she removed with needle nose pliers.

In the last picture here, she’s at the recycling center, running back to the car, excited to share with me how much money she made. Yes, she’s wearing a lab coat and a stethoscope. That’s her recycling uniform.

When I had one child, I thought she was the product of me. Every awesome thing she did, I just knew it was because I was doing something right, greatness like that doesn’t simply happen; look at other people’s kids, they suck. Having 6 girls has made me realize that they each really are their own self. And that amazing-ness comes in many flavors. Sometimes, it’s even sour.

Lotsa crazy crud going down at the Hannigan house. Don’t miss another post,

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