(Art by Nebezial at Deviant Art

Thanks to these guys, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (this is fan art, by the way, awesome fan art) my daughter is obsessed with becoming a ninja.

In the beginning, I pretty much blew this off as a fascination that would go away just like her interest in Barbies and Little People.

Well, it’s hung around a lot longer than I thought.

Yesterday, she was home from school, not feeling well. She’s had a pretty bad sinus infection, with drainage that kept making her puke (partially because she hasn’t figured out how to cough it up yet) so I kept her home.

Well, she was obviously feeling better. She started zipping across the living room, trying to “stealth run” like a ninja.

She sneaks over to my side. “So how many times did you see me Mom?”

I shrug. “Six.”

“Ha! I went by eight times.” Now, I’m pretty sure she’s making that up, because I had been sitting in the living room with her for twenty minutes, and if she had been going back and forth eight times, I probably would have made her sit down or something.

Something motherly, anyway, would have been said.

So she’s be-bopping around, and I’m beginning to wonder why I didn’t send her to school, when I realize it’s time to pick up my youngest from school. I put on my coat, get ready to go, and here she comes.

“Rawr!” she growls, taking my hands, and tried to have a pushing contest.

I have at least a hundred pounds on my eleven year old daughter. She may be taller than me, but I’m far thicker.

“Really?” I said, rolling my eyes.

She won’t let my hands go.

I sighed. And yanked her forward, pinning her hands around her, so she couldn’t move.

“You will not defeat me!” She says in her goofy play voice.

“Uh huh.” And I swipe her legs out from underneath her.


Down she goes.

She rolls over and stares at me. “How did you do that?”

“I have thirty years experience on you. And my brother wrestled. I think I know how to put someone on the floor.”

She stared at me, unable to fathom that, I, her old mother, would have any idea how to do that. And sadly, if anyone would have seen the event, they would have laughed, because I’m sure it wasn’t horribly graceful. But it accomplished what I intended.

When I return with my son, she tries again… Hands clasped in mine.

“You don’t want to go on the floor again, do you?” I ask.

“I must seek my revenge!” (She was pretty stir-crazy at this point… I must mention this. She’d been stuck at home for three days sick).

So very casually, I spin her around, pinning her against my chest with THE SAME MOVE I used before, and rest my leg against hers.

“The floor huh?” I ask.

“No, fine, I quit,” she says and I let her go.

I walk away, and I hear my little five year old talking. “You shouldn’t mess with Mommy, sissy.”

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