The ugly side of show business

When Taylor and I were visiting my parents in Iowa this past fall, my Mom insisted, INSISTED, on taking Taylor toy shopping. And when I reminded her how spoiled her grandbaby already was, not to mention the lack of space we had in our returning luggage, she simply turned her head, mumbled something under her breath and proceeded to stroll T through the toy aisles, chirping, Pick out WHATEVER you want, baby girl. Your Ya-Ya is going to buy you a special toy. And, of course, Taylor’s eyes and arms darted to the most obnoxious toy in the entire store, a mini-music machine, complete with keyboard, microphone and barking-dog joystick. And my Mom smirked and put it in the cart, as if it was retribution for me picking percussion in band when I was younger. Because nothing’s worse than living under the same roof with an eighth-grade girl who releases her teenage angst while practicing snare drum in her room. Alright, I get it now. Are we even yet?

So Miss T played with her revenge-toy for a good week, and then in typical toddler-fashion, moved onto another treasure to covet for a short amount of time. And after residing quietly in the bottom of the toy-bin for a few months, Taylor pulled out her music machine yesterday to give an impromptu performance for Ruby and I. BUT, someone wasn’t in the mood.

And like any artist who has been heckled or interrupted during a show, Taylor reacted in true diva fashion.

I guess we’re gonna have to work on this sensitivity thing before trying out for American Idol, or else T’s gonna be the kid sobbing her way through the cameras outside the audition, and I’ll be the crazy stage-mom going after the judges with my drumsticks.