Sometimes I still feel young

There are nights, like tonight, when I go out to meet someone for dinner, and I don't feel so tired it's like my face is sagging right off my skull. I'm able to order a drink, and I'm able to find something besides Violet to talk about. And then me and my friend walked down the street to the bar, feeling for all the world like two carefree and sassy young ladies. We had a couple of drinks...we ran into some old college friends...we talked about old times. Then I hailed a cab and went home, appreciating the hills and houses of my beautiful city as we drove through the dark streets. Some nights the horrendous rent we pay to live here is still worth it, and I still feel like the vibrant girl I once was. And still, very rarely, sometimes still am.

Meanwhile, at home, Violet is having an uncomfortable number of tantrums. Today was a huge one. Vi had awakened thirsty from a long deep nap.

"Want milk, mama!"

"Cow's milk in a sippy cup, or mama's milk?'

"Cow milk."

"Honey, you've had lots of milk today. I'm worried you're going to get constipated. I'm going to bring you some water too."

"No water! No water!" Violet shrieked shrilly.

"It's not a big deal hon, I'll bring you two cups and you'll drink from both." I went to the kitchen to fill the cups. God I'm sick of washing out sippy cup parts, it'll be a happy day when she uses regular damn cups.

Meanwhile, she's in her bedroom ranting. "NO water! No water! No WATER!" Going completely nuts. By the time I come in with the milk (and the water), she's backed up against her dresser, screaming. I try to get her to calm down.

"Look," I say, flopping on the bed. "There's the milk, right there on your art table. If you don't want the water, just don't drink it. "

No! That's not enough! The water still exists, and it's still on her art table, and that just cannot be borne. She continued to scream "NO WATER!" at the top of her lungs for a good seven minutes while I stared at her, mystified, trying not to laugh as she turned as red as a stop sign. I finally got her to come over and I hugged her and blew on her poor hot head as she cried in my arms.

"You don't have to drink the water," I said, helplessly. Giving in, as always.

"Water please!" she said cheerily. And she took the water glass and drank it, and ignored the milk. I was exhausted. She was happy. Children are strange. What was that all about?