Mila Gonna Mila

Oh. Hey. Mila.

That's a name, of course, but it's also a state of being. And Mila is SO very Mila.

On Friday I was peacefully observing a very large meeting in which I'm kinda sorta one of the more senior-type people when my phone rang. The Caller ID displayed the worst possible thing.

The elementary school.

Give me a call from the high school ANY day. It's the elementary school that terrifies me. Things happen there, y'all. Things like the school nurse sitting in her office with a very sad Mila because Mila twisted her ankle at recess.

::WOMP::WOMP::

I'm sure it makes me a terrible person, but I have a lot of thoughts when I hear that one of my children is injured and most of those thoughts are "BS." I'm more reporting history than passing judgement, though. Both girls are notorious for painting an image of a painful and active death when actually they had a paper cut or the like. But, this time, the report was coming from the school nurse. She seems like maybe she's been around the block a time or two, so when she said, "She needs to go get it looked at," I promptly muttered some swear words and plotted a plan of action.

Minutes later, I was playing hooky from work while looking at a very sad Mila with an ice pack on her ankle. I loaded her into the car to take her straight to urgent care but then remembered I'm not a rookie. I took a quick turn to a playground. It was time to lay a little faker/exaggerator trap, just in case.

Mila was SUPER excited to see the playground, especially because she would have it all to herself. I told her she could play if she walked over to the playground. I said it was a trap. I'm not going to apologize for it.

The little goober got out of the car and hopped her way on one foot all the way over to the swings. Before I could even say something, she informed me that hopping counts as walking. WHATEVER, CHILD.

I made her get back in the car and proceeded to urgent care. You can't just walk in these days because, you know, PANDEMIC, so I went to the door and got the url and then returned to the car to get check in via the website. The whole production took long enough for me to glance around and realize it was going to be a VERY long wait.

Being the dutiful employee that I am, I decided to run back home, attend my afternoon meetings, and return to urgent care a little later in the afternoon. Mila could sit on the couch with her ice pack and watch cartoons or whatever. Nothing was going to change in 2 hours, except maybe the length of that line. So, we set off for home.

Along the way, Mila realized something REAL important - she was about to miss gym class. Apparently that's a problem? It must be a problem because she started begging me to take her back to school so she wouldn't miss gym class. When I was done not relating to that concept at all, I told her "No." She had been sent home, so she would stay home.

And that is when Mila decided to Mila. The child does not take well to not getting her way, so she yelled and cried and generally did all the things that would ensure that I won't let her go to gym class until she's 30. WATCH ME. Some day the kid will figure out that you can't out-stubborn the person you got your stubborn from, but that day was not Friday. Instead, Mila continued to be mad and beg and all of the things. I was public enemy #1.

As evidenced by the fact that the second we got back home, Mila flung the car door open and ...

LITERALLY RAN AT TOP SPEED ALL THE WAY UP TWO FLIGHTS OF STAIRS AND TO HER BED.

As in, she went from insisting she was too injured to exist to impersonating The Flash in 2.4 seconds. She then spent the next two hours glaring at me from the comfort of her bed and occasionally growling her anger at me as if she's a dog or something.

Still, what a miraculous cure! All she had to do is get mad and suddenly the leg that needed to be amputated was just fine!

Like I said, Mila is both a name and a state of being.