My Kallie Rose

My Kallie Rose



Kalyssa Rose is an angelic demon, or a demonic angel. I can say that. I’m her mother.

My little, rosy cheeked blondie is a talker. Though it’s sometimes hard to understand her two-year old babble, she’s quite forceful with what she has to say. One could almost say that she’s a bully. She definitely has her steel-spirited ways of getting what she wants.

That, however, surprises most people meeting her for the first time. Wearing denim overalls, a pink shirt with a warning I put on myself, “50% angel,” and her gold hair tied up in two, springy puppy ears, her full-faced smile instantly warms the hearts of many. Her big, sky-blue eyes twinkle like the summer sun. Her chubby cheeks blossom like the spring flowers, and the patter of her fast-flying feet thunder through the house like the first storm of a new season.

A lady approached me over produce at the grocery store and, speaking of her sleeping infant surrounded by bananas and oranges like a gift basket, asked if I knew about the terrible twos and if she had anything to worry about. I smiled, about to inform the love beaten mother that I did not, when my youngest reached from the buggy, grabbing the bottom apple.

As the new mother and I watched in sleep-deprived horror, the avalanche of over-ripe apples thudded onto the floor. I looked at my little angel with her winsome smile and replied, “In Webster’s dictionary, the terrible twos is defined as an over abundance of curiosity,” and I pointed at the halo clad child whose horns were holding the shining circle up beautifully.

Of course, her truly demonic personality doesn’t shine quite as brightly until 1:30 in the inky black morning. Then we’re at it again at 3:45 and 4:30 and lastly at 6:00 a.m. when we are up for the remainder of the day. What really makes the experience so enjoyable is the fact that, after closing the store at 11:30 p.m., typing for a half a blurry hour, catching two hours of sleep, if I’m lucky, the little angel doesn’t nap until I leave for work.

It’s hard not to love that little piss ant, especially when she holds your mud-filled head in her hands and says, “Me happy. You happy, Momma.” When my eyes can’t even stay open, it’s hard to let her know just how much I love her.

Since being home a little more often after my layoff, her more demonic side has subsided considerably. I now get to sleep almost for two complete nights a week. This has made me notice what a sensitive child she is, something that she had hidden under tantrums and all-night screaming fits. I’ve begun to realize that with my last job, I was miserable, stressed and creatively constipated and it reflected on both my children, most noticeably on my youngest.

So, though I realize she will always be a mule, I’ve decided to make sure her smile shines more often. I kind of like my angelic demon! Maybe we could put the demonic angel in the closet . . . at least until she’s thirteen.