What? I didn't receive the Mother-of-the-Year Award AGAIN?!?

I have been told that I seem to be taking all the drama of having a preteen pretty gracefully. After I finished cleaning up the mess from having snorted coffee through my nose, I thought perhaps I should respond lest people, when they think of me, get warm, fuzzy feelings.

I've never considered myself graceful, and, as far as I know, neither has anyone else. (But I love you for the thought, Amy!) Ask anyone who knew me growing up, and they will tell you that I could fall UP stairs like nobody's business, not to mention the more commonly preferred down. After one "trip" too many, my grandma actually looked at me and said, "Doesn't it bother you that you're not graceful?" This incensed my mother to no end, but not me. Having never experienced gracefulness, I figured I couldn't miss what I never had.

But I digress.

I was talking (complaining) to David. "Sabrina challenges me constantly. (How disrespectful!) She interrupts me in the middle of my sentence to answer a question I haven't even finished asking, assuming she knows what I'm talking about. (How rude!) And she always wants the last word. (How childish!) I'm starting to come to the conclusion that she thinks she knows everything. (How arrogant!) Where on earth did she get that from? It has to be from your side of the family. Nobody in my family would . . . What? Me??"

Well, he should know. He married me.

So after more than 10 years of being told by family members that my oldest daughter is a "mini me" of my husband, I am finding that, much to my chagrin, she's actually much more like me.

An example: I took the kids to see Harry Potter. Afterward, Sabrina made some comment about Harry going to the lake twice to get water for Dumbledore. I disagreed, since obviously he only went once. This particular point had nothing whatsoever to do with the actual plot of the movie or even anything significant, so it should have ended then and there, right? Right? RIGHT????

Well, I am here to tell you that we almost came to blows arguing over how many times a fictional character got water from a movie set. Neither of us was going to give ground. I only came to my senses when my 9-year-old daughter, Rose, yelled, "Shut up, you guys!"

Another Mother-of-the-Year Award down the drain. Man, I'm never going to get one of those.