The Bibbed Wonder and His Mini-Me

As my bean gets older, she takes on less of my traits and, sadly, more of her fathers. When she was little, I was secretly thrilled that she acted like me, liked the same things I liked, laughed at my bad jokes, and thought I was the bee’s knees. Friends and family often commented on how she stood like me, talked like me, and had the same mannerisms as me. Hundreds have told us that we look alike. She was my Mini-Me, and I adored it.

I have often discussed that since my little buddy turned thirteen, she became a teenager overnight. She adores that stupid phone, does stupid TikToks that annoy me to no end, talks differently, acts differently, and doesn’t think I’m as cool as she used to think. I am struggling. What I find most alarming about my child’s new attitude is she acts like her father. I know, it’s horrifying. Go ahead, feel bad for me. I appreciate your sympathy.

My reality is my kid acts like her ill-behaved, oversized, man-child father. Sigh. Suddenly, everything The Bibbed Wonder does is cool and hilarious, and he’s her go-to person. Most frightening is she now behaves like him as well. The world is not ready for another version of Eric, especially a female version. He’s already corrupted my dear friend Jenna and has now corrupted my Little Bean.

The new game in the Smay household is to take a Sharpie and write on the back of my neck when I don’t expect it. This is The Bibbed Wonder’s second favorite game. The only other thing that makes him giggle like the village idiot is to “bum thumb” me when he walks past me. Dozens of times a day, no matter if I am on a ladder, doing dishes, creating soap tops, packing orders, or writing thank you cards, he does sneak attacks by poking me in the butt with his thumb and yelling, “Bum Thumb!” It’s a game that never gets old for him. I, on the other hand, threaten to break his thumb off and shove it in various orifices of his person. Sigh.

The Sharpie game is a whole new level of annoying. I am constantly dodging them, swearing at them, making threats, and calling names. Rather than fear my wrath, they laugh like hyenas and play keep away with the Sharpie. Their main goal is to connect my eyebrows with said Sharpie, hoping I don’t look in the mirror before I go somewhere. I hate this new game.

The Bibbed Wonder has become very ninja-like in protecting his manhood from my swatting hands and his bald little head from Sharpies. My bean, on the other hand, can be taken down. Although her taekwondo skills make her efficient and her cat-like reflexes make her a challenge, she is afraid of hurting me and doesn’t fight back that hard. I tackled her to the ground the other day, trying to connect her eyebrows with a Sharpie. She kept turning her head, so I did the next best thing and stabbed her in the ear with a Sharpie. That was on Friday. She is still cleaning marker out of her ear and out of her hairline. She now runs from me and squirms if she sees me with a marker.

After a terrible loss and multiple marks on my neck, I took a shower and scrubbed my neck with soap and a washcloth. When I stepped out of the shower, I asked The Bean if I had gotten all the marker off my neck. Her snarky little response was, “Sure!” Sigh. After scolding her, having her mock me and laugh, I asked The Bibbed Wonder if I got all the marker off my neck. His annoying response was, “Sure!” I ended up using a hand mirror and bending into all kinds of weird angles to ensure I was Sharpie-free. Sigh.

The Sharpie game, although annoying, is not the worst. Oh no, dear reader, there is a deeper darkness afoot. My little bean used to be my biggest supporter. All my outlandish ideas, whimsical thoughts, and creative ingenuity were met and agreed upon with enthusiasm. Now that she’s thirteen, she’s just a sarcastic little imp who nay-says and giggles at the destruction of my ideas. Yet another disturbing trait of her father.

I told my bean I thought it would be fun to have a winter market. We could offer sleigh rides, build an ice skating rink in our front yard, build bonfires, roast chestnuts, marshmallows, and have a little winter market with all our vendor friends. I implored my bean, “Wouldn’t that be fun?” She scoffed, looked at me, giggled, and said, “Yeah, mom, if you’re in a Hallmark movie! Nobody wants to stand out in the cold for four hours!” That, dear reader, is a Bibbed Wonder response at its finest. Sigh.

I am contemplating an intervention or, perhaps more accurately, an exorcism. There is surely some way to get my darling little bean back from the dark side of snark, sarcasm, and nay-saying. Surely, my darling girl is not lost to her dad’s dark and cynical sense of humor or his propensity to say no to everything and play annoying games for amusement? My goal is now to bring my girl back from the dark side.

Actually, I jest. Don’t get me wrong; The Bibbed Wonder is annoying and frustrating. However, he is fun-loving, witty, and a master of one-liners. His sense of humor was one of his most endearing traits when we first met. After twenty years, there are days it wears a little thin, but he is a constant source of laughter and joy. I love that these two goobers have such a strong bond. If she’s going to imitate anyone, she could do worse than her dad. I mean, she could do better, too; I’m always an option. For now, she’s her daddy’s girl, and I love that she has him. I know that with children, their preference ebbs and flows. I’m certain and hopeful that I will someday become the cool parent again. Until then, I will secretly enjoy the new and annoying Sharpie game, endure her snide little comments, and appreciate her nay-saying opinions. She’s got strong beliefs and isn’t afraid to share them. I keep reminding myself that this is good, even if she disagrees with me. Sigh.

On this chilly December Monday, stay safe, be smart, don’t stick your thumb in other people’s bum, don’t write on others with a Sharpie, and keep washing your hands. In the event you do get written on with Sharpie, wash your written-on parts too. Insert wink here.