My daughter, the Princess

My Darling Lily,

I think you may be a bit confused about something, and as your mother, it’s my duty to clear it up. You looked quite royal today, dressed for school in your frilliest purple dress for the princess party, but I have to break some news to you:

You aren’t actually a princess, kid. You did know that, right? Because your recent behavior indicates otherwise.

I do not appreciate having you scream that I am the meanest mother in the world for not allowing you to have a cupcake for breakfast. If you thought that I really wanted to bake “pink, but not strawberry flavored cupcakes with pink frosting and snow on top” at seven o’clock this morning, you were sorely mistaken. What I wanted to do was clean the kitchen, still a mess from last night’s dinner party. But, instead, I baked your damn cupcakes. You’re welcome.

Being told that you will never love me again for making you clean up your crayons yesterday wasn’t appreciated either. I am not your maid, or your assistant. You make the mess, you clean it up. Got it? You are totally capable of buckling yourself in the car. Just because you don’t feel like it, doesn’t mean you can’t. I don’t much feel like it either.

There is not “adult food” and “kid food.” I cooked enough food yesterday for a small army. It was good enough for your father and his fifteen co-workers, and pretty darn good, if I do say so myself. You, however, deemed it gross and refused to eat. Somehow, though, you still ended up with cake. That was good enough for you. Even princesses eat chicken, my love.

I adore you, Lil. You can be the sweetest little girl in the entire world. I love your imagination and creativity and thoughtfulness. You truly amaze me. But the princess act is getting old. And, remember, the queen trumps the princess every time.