Girl Power

I owe Antonia a 100 List on her birthday (which is two short months from now). For anyone new to this party, my short answer to WHY is because I made an unspoken commitment whilst delirious from no sleep or maybe from watching one too many episodes of The Surreal World. Whatever my problem was... bottom line is that I plan to describe Antonia down to the abhorent minutia regarding her favorite toenail polish on the day she turns nine. Therefore, I'll try not to go overboard in this post.

I just wanted to say that, after today, there isn't a doubt in my mind that Antonia's going to conquer the world with the determination of Adam or Attila or Alexander or any of those other A-named MEN who threw their weight around this planet before now.

Last night, as I sat at my computer, banging my head against the keyboard because I couldn't get from point A to point B in my novel without putting God in the machine, so to speak, she turns to me and says, "What's the problem, Mom?"

Me: I can't write. I'm just a poor excuse for a writer who's having a moment of self-loathing. Ignore me.
Her: You want me to do this for you? I'm a GREAT writer. *she says as she pulls the keyboard toward her and nudges me over*

This is who Toni is. And I have no idea how she came to be. I realize that she also shares genes with her father, but I GREW her!! And, evidently, it counted for absolutely nothing because she does NOT appear to be of my genes. Not even a little. Not even under a high-powered microscope.... Don't get me wrong, I THANK GOD for this every, single day. The question is purely academic: HOW?!

We here at home are quite familiar with her greatness, her confidence. Or as Jonah would say, her know-it-allness. But her reputation of distinction has preceded her in ways I wasn't privy to until today. She and I were picking up Jonah from preschool, and when we walked into the room his entire classroom started chanting "TO-NI! TO-NI! TO-NI!" I turned around expecting to see her juggling knives or breakdancing on the teacher's desk. But nothing. She was standing there looking just as perplexed as I looked.

As we walked out, I anticipated an explanation of some sort. Was she doing bunny ears behind my back?! Gangster signs?! But she offered up no enlightenment. And neither did Jonah!

"So what was all that about?" I finally had to ask.
They both shrugged and moved on with the usual after-school banter -- Toni, I call shotgun! Jonah, you're too short to be a shotgun!

So, not only do I have the privilege of living with someone who carries herself with more aplomb than The Statue of Liberty, but I'm living with someone who's got a four-foot-and-under fan club to assure her that she's definitely onto something.