Stolen Breath

The Rest of the Story

She was a freshly minted three-year old the first time she asked. Mr. Husband and I had already discussed the issue, so I had scripted my response. "You have to wait a year to get your ears pierced," I told her.

We hadn't assigned an exact age to the deed, but rather thought she should suffer through the desperate want for a full year. The only problem with our plan was that I didn't expect her to ask so soon. She caught me off guard, I rattled off the scripted answer, and then I had to suffer the consequences.

So, did you know that 3-year olds suck at understanding the concept of time? THEY DO. At least once per week I would have to answer some seemingly random question like, "Is it a year yet?" or "How long until a year?" A stranger wouldn't have known what she was talking about, but I did. Over and over and over, the kid persisted and persisted with her questioning.

When her 4th birthday rolled around, it took about 4.2 seconds for Alexis to bring up the subject of piercing her ears. I was already completely bored of the conversation, but not quite ready to cave, so I decided to make the whole thing a little more interesting and create some ways to make it all benefit me.

You want your ears pierced? Fine, you have to clean your bedroom. Every week. Without being reminded. And, yes, I will be checking under your bed.

You want your ears pierced? Fine, you have to stay out of Time Out for an entire month. And, no, you can't just lock the door on the Time Out room and expect that to count.

You want your ears pierced? Fine, you have to put away the silverware when we wash the dishes. And, yes, you do have to put it in the drawer, not the garbage can.

You want your ears pierced? Fine, you have to pick three boxes of toys to give away. And make sure the spastic talking Elmo finds his way into one of those boxes.

You want your ears pierced? Fine, you have to get yourself dressed in the morning every day for two months. And, no, you can't just wear your pajamas to school.

You want your ears pierced? Fine, you have to sleep in your own bed all night long for ten whole nights.

I wasn't surprised when she overcame many of the roadblocks, but that last one? The sleeping in her own bed thing? I fully expected to get a whole year out of that sucker. Her average over the first twelve months we lived here was something like . . . um . . . oh, yeah. You can't divide zero by anything without the universe imploding, so it was something like OHMYGAHSHENEVERSLEEPSINHEROWNBED%.

Once the challenge had been issued, it took her twelve days to sleep in her own bed all night ten times. The two nights that she didn't, I can honestly say one of the grown-ups in the house was to blame. And, because I am evil, I intentionally used that whole thing where the kid can't figure out how time works against her. She actually stayed in her bed all night more like fifteen times before I finally told her she had won the war. Shhh! Don't tell her!

(If you had told me two years ago that I could win the nighttime war with a pair of sparkly earrings, I SO TOTALLY WOULD HAVE DONE IT THEN.)

So yesterday we tromped off to the mall to do the deed. Alexis quickly picked out a pair of cubic zirconia earrings and climbed up into the chair. I had already given her tons of grief that it would pinch and that she had to sit still like a statue and she had to be polite and blah, blah, blah.

She was ready.

It always amuses me to watch strangers judge the kid. The very second the woman who would do the piercing laid eyes on the kid, her face said, "She's going to chicken out."

People, if my kid says she wants to do something, she's going to do it. You can either help her, or you can get the hell out of her way because she WILL run you over. Trust me, I've learned this the hard way.

Alexis sat stiller than a statue as the woman marked where the earrings would go. She sat so still, I was starting to wonder if she was holding her breath and was about to pass out. Wouldn't that have been fun?

But, no, she was just following directions. When the kid wants something, she suddenly gains amazing listening skills. It doesn't happen nearly often enough, but it's such a beautiful thing I get a tear in my eye thinking about it. She sat perfectly still even as the first earring went in, and then again for the second. She never flinched. Not a single tear fell from her eyes. Rather, she was all smiles. (I could have sworn that crap hurt. She's obviously more willing to suffer for beauty than I am.)

The lady who pierced them kinda looked like she was going to pass out, but I think that was because she probably has never had a kid sit that perfectly for her. It probably didn't help that I'm Miss Know-It-All when it comes to piercing and totally fussed at her to do things the right way. Ahem.

Anyway, the deed is done, Alexis is happy, and Mr. Husband and I are all AAAACK! HOW THE HELL DID SHE GET TO BE OLD ENOUGH TO GET HER EARS PIERCED?

We're coping with our sorrow by enjoying the fact that we're not getting kicked in the face at night.

It's Not Hard To Figure Out That This Is Part One Of A Two Part Story

"If God had wanted holes in your ears, he would have put them there."

I must have heard my mother utter those words at least 1,426,069,751 times. Knowing what I know now, that means she heard me say, "Can I get my ears pierced?" at least 7,373,981,024 times. I'm sure at some point in time she stopped bothering to even answer my question, much like I no longer answer Alexis when she asks if she can get a horse. It didn't really matter because I knew the answer was (and is), "No. Never. Not a chance."

By the time I was in second grade, I was pretty much devastated about the whole thing. In my head, I was the only little girl in the entire world who wasn't wearing sparkly things in her ears. I asked and I begged and I pleaded and I made promises, but she never did back down.

Her absolute resolve against earrings served her well, right up until the very first time I got the keys to the car right after getting my driver's license on my 14th birthday. (All hail North Dakota and it's crazy early driving age!) The very first thing I did was drive to a place that I knew would pierce my ears without checking my ID. I walked into the place with my ears exactly "as God had made them" and walked out with six holes in one and three in the other.

Let that be a lesson to mothers everywhere. Failure to negotiate with Tiny Terrorists may lead to a radical act at some point in time. (Also: ZOMG am I screwed if Alexis turns out to be anything like me when she's a teenager.)

Needless to say, the whole thing went over REAL well when I got home. I think I was grounded for my entire 14th year. It didn't matter, though, because I had already won the war.

Fast forward to my college years...Those nine holes served me well. I got a part-time job at a jewelry kiosk in the mall and somehow ended up becoming a sales rock star. I was good at selling everything, but I was REALLY good at selling ear piercing. I broke sales records left and right, completely confounding my manager who wanted to strangle me every time I talked a parent out of piercing their infant's ears. It was company policy to pierce any ears that came through that little gate, but it was MY policy to do everything I could to make parents realize that piercing a baby's ears could turn out badly. If the piercings didn't get ripped out by tiny curious hands, then the kid would grow up, their ears would grow, and those piercings would wind up uneven. *I* didn't want to be responsible for any craziness, so I would send the parents elsewhere if I couldn't just talk them out of it.

I think it was that honesty and those nine holes that made people trust me. A lot. In the two years I worked there, I easily pierced 5000 ears. Somewhere I even have a a whole box of sales rewards I earned for piercing more ears than anybody else in the entire company for the month. I won it nearly every single month.

So, yeah, my mom may have told me, "If God had wanted holes in your ears, he would have put them there," but the real irony was that I was the one putting holes in people's ears. Heh.