Mini-me, M. Delaney

To avoid an eight-page blog and risk losing you, my loyal blog reader, I've placed the events of my past few days on the wheel-o-crazy and gave 'er a spin.....here's today's golden nugget:

Talking to my daughter is like having a discussion with a grown woman trapped in an 8 year old girl's body. She possesses an innate maturity that I have not seen in most adults, let alone a child. She is articulate, sassy and hilarious. And the scariest thing of all, she is mini-me.

Our fish, Goober, has been on his last le-, er, fin, for months now. I'm pretty sure he's suffered a fishy-stroke of some sort because his hind parts kinda just drag behind him when he attempts to swim. Watching his health take a turn for the worse, Meghan says to me (and if you know Meghan, say this in your Meghan voice), 'You know, Mom, it's not that I want Goober to, you know [hand flip], die, but I really hate seeing him this way. I wish if he was going to, you know, die, that he would go ahead and do it. I mean, it's not that I want him to, but I just feel really bad for him.'

Is she telling me we should euthanize our fish?

At school this week, the second graders were asked to name a person they admire and give a reason why. Meghan chose me and said, 'because she works really hard to take care of us, and she's the most loving, caring mom in the whole world'. (*tears*) As if sharing that with me wasn't enough, she follows up by exclaiming, 'Can you believe [hand up in oh-no-you-didn't pose] that Katie chose Lady GaGa?!'

Did I just beat out Lady GaGa for my daughter's affection?

I'm neurotic today because...
...I have a daughter who is gorgeous, intelligent, confident and sassy. This can only lead to sleepless nights. Or more gray hair. Or an ulcer. Or jail time.