Published on Mommy Tracked (http://www.mommytracked.com)

My Son is a Burgeoning Drag Queen.

Vacation was heaven – HEAVEN – but now it’s over, and I’m back. Within an hour of being home, my vacation high devolved into Feels Like I Never Left, and now, after a single day, it’s become Feels Like It Never Even Happened, complete with a massive, blow out fight between me and my husband earlier this afternoon in the parking lot of the Natural History Museum. It’s as if Mexico, with its balmy nights and breezy ocean views, was something I dreamed, or possibly experienced in a prior life when I was a Mayan queen and had a battalion of servants to cater to my every whim. But alas, the reality of my current life has now smacked me in the face, and there are some pressing issues at hand. The first is my new book, a story which I am going to save for next week’s post, but I’ll give you a little teaser here and just say that things are Not Going Well. Especially since I’ve “taken a little break” from it, which was supposed to last for one week and somehow has stretched out to just over two months. To be continued…

The other issue to which I need to turn my immediate attention (as I was instructed by my mother-in-law upon my arrival from the airport) is the Davis Problem, also known as, My Son is a Burgeoning Drag Queen. I, for one, don’t really see this as a problem, but rather a simple product of his environment. The kid has an older sister, and because I am a horrible, lazy mother and have cultivated exactly zero male friends for him, his entire socialization has consisted of playdates with four year-old girls who like to dress up like various princesses and/or mermaids and to perform Swan Lake along with Bella Dancerella in nothing but flimsy tutus and pink ballet slippers. So it’s not really such a shocker to me that he likes to run around in a blue Cinderella dress and fairy wings while carrying a magic wand, or that he knows how to arabesque and curtsy like a member of the New York City Ballet.

Of course, my husband’s completely unoriginal response is to immediately drag the poor kid outside to hit some rockets off of the plastic teeball stand, and to announce in a loud voice that “we’re going to get you some boy costumes, buddy.” In fact, when I did finally sort through the mail this morning, I found a box containing a Thomas the Train engineer outfit, a Superman costume, and something like looked like a giant plush toy that you strap over your shoulders in order to become Lightning McQueen (or, Cleaning the Light, as Davis calls him). And while my husband’s excitement about these costumes upon presenting them to Davis was nothing short of epic, Davis was totally uninterested because a) they weren’t his favorite color (pink), and b) they weren’t soft like the velvet on his Cinderella dress. At which point I laughed, and told my husband to get over it. By the next time we go on vacation (which, if history is any guide, will be in another three years, when Davis is five), I’m sure he’ll be pulling wings off of flies and throwing footballs in the living room, and all of this princess stuff will be nothing more than funny stories that we tell at the dinner table (my husband has instituted a no-picture rule, so a slide show at his Bar Mitzvah is unfortunately out). And if he’s not, well, then look at it this way, I said to him. We’ve spent hundreds, possibly thousands, of dollars on princess costumes over the last five years. At least we’re getting our money’s worth.

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