You Are Going Little Missy and That's That.

Ok so T.D. is only about six months old right now. How the heck I have a six month old kid is beyond me but that's besides the point. I was just reading a post on the blog, The Collin Chronicles, Tales of the Tiny Tyrant, when it made me think of T.D.'s future and a conversation I had with her this past weekend.

Scene: Sunday afternoon. It was probably more like 10 a.m. but we had been up so long since SOMEONE didn't want to sleep past six that if felt like 3 p.m. or later. T.D. is on the floor banging away on her little piano. The kid loves to make noise, loves to bang toys with her hands, bang her hands into the floor or do all three. She is destined to follow in the footsteps of Animal from the Muppet Show. I am making a Mexican chicken salad for dinner that has to marinate for a while (I sound so domestic I might puke). Plus, I must keep moving or I WILL fall asleep. On the kitchen DVD player (sometimes the fact that I have this makes me cringe) I am playing season one of Felicity. I used to hate this show until the last season and then it mercilessly sucked me in never to be a non-Felicity fan again. Sigh. It's the early episode where Felicity decides to stay in New York and persue her college career there. Her parents are not pleased and want to drag her ass back to Palo Alto. Anyway, it made me think and utter aloud to no one in particular, why do parents do this? Why do they think it's better to make their kids decisions for them? To hold on so tight that it is sure to backfire on them. Don't they watch tv or the movie of the week? It never works! If it does it later backfires on their kids and all hell breaks loose in a drug binge, bombing or some other weirdly tragic story.

Thinking this, I looked down at T.D. She is humming and smiles up at me. I smile back and say, T.D. I love you and will support you in whatever you do (short of taking up prostitution or drug running, I'm fine if she wants to be an arms dealer). You want to be a trapeze artiste? Fine, I support you. You want to be a professional cheerleader, singer in a band, or nuclear physicist? Fine. I support you. BUT, no matter what you want to be YOU MUST GO TO COLLEGE CHICKY. I don't care where you go, even if it's out of country or in the middle of nowhere Montana. Down the street or wherever, I support you. I will try and provide in any way possible. I just want you to go to college.

T.D. smiles me. Crazy Mummy. Crazy. She bangs on her piano and lets out a shriek. I smile. Julliard is fine with me.