Let yourselves be warned, that a totally unexpected huge problem will follow.

Had you read my previous entry about Middle School Fashion Police, you would known that my 12-year-old is suffering from fashion unacceptance at the hands of a few miserable mean girls at school.

Truth be told, I did not know how to deal with this problem. The idea of contacting the school administrators to correct these girls’ subtle bullying behavior seemed over the top, and would most definitely ensure that my 12-year-old would never share any school dramas with me ever again.

After much consideration, I decided to apply the rarely used strategy of: If you can’t beat them, join them.

Last Sunday, I took the kids to the mall, and told my 12-year-old to pick out whatever clothes she wanted.

I thought this was brilliant. Oh yeah, she will feel really secure now, and will know that when she comes to me with a problem, she can count on me to plot a plan for all of us to suffer together.

We walked into a store called Justice at the the mall. My 12-year-old picked out a number of clothing articles there, and handed them to me one by one. Clothing articles that I would never put my hands on otherwise, and caused me to wince when I knew she wasn’t looking.

We walked out of Justice with a full large bag. Then I cured my annoyance by stopping by Gymboree to buy clothes for my 9-year-old. My baby is still happy for me to shop for her.

Just look at this adorable and sophisticated outfit my 9-year-old will be adorned in from Gymboree!

And look at this alien outfit that my 12-year-old got…

On the drive home, I was feeling proud of myself. I really did allow my 12-year-old to make her own choices, and did not once use my veto power at the mall.

I was certain that my child is feeling empowered, grown up, independent, happy, secure…

“Mom.” 12-year-old interrupted my glowing thoughts.

“What?” me.

“I want Tasterbach out of my room now.” 12-year-old.

“WHAT?! Why?” me and my 9-year-old together.

My two kids got along great, and are often inseparable. They demanded to be moved into one bedroom a few years ago, and shared a room very splendidly over the years.

“I want my own room now.” 12-year-old answered matter-of-factly.

Empowered, grown up, secure…flashing loudly in my head.

“Tasterbach. You will have to move back into your own room. She wants her privacy now.” me.

9-year-old began pouting and crossing of the arms to display her displeasure.

“I want a real desk in my room.” 12-year-old.

I suppose a 12-year-old can legitimately outgrow her toddler table set.

“That’s fine. We will get you a study desk for your room.” me, still empowering…

“Oh, I also want a TV in my room, and a soda machine.” 12-year-old.

Me blinking: this “empowering” business is going TOO FAR.

I commanded in my very loud voice, “There will be no soda machine in your room! And most definitely no TV in your bedroom!! ”

“Why most definitely no TV?” 12-year-old.

“BECAUSE!” I turned to give my 12-year-old the eye to eye, “If we put a TV in your room, we might never see you again. I like to see you from time to time.”

As soon as we arrived home, the newly empowered one lead my husband and I upstairs to assess how best to move my baby out of her room quickly.

Over the years, my baby’s bedroom had turned into a library/reading room and toy room. What made things worse is that the room had been assaulted by numerous science projects during the science fair season. There is currently a long florescent light structure hanging inside the closet.

There is going to be a day of declutter and clean up before we can move the baby’s bed back.

In the mean time, the baby was a pitiful mess laying on the sofa downstairs, depressed about being kicked out of her sister’s room all of sudden.

“Hey, I got an idea!” hubby blurted out excitedly.

“We can paint Tasterbach’s room.” hubby, “Then she will get excited and will want to move back to her old room.”

CRAB!!! Of course, the baby will want to paint her room.

I knew the idea would work , but I hated it anyway. This meant I will have to engage the three of them on round two of the battle of the paint colors.

I am not afraid of colors. But it has been established that the kids’ idea of wall paint colors is absolutely horrid.

On our last round of paint color war, we comprised on painting just one of their two bedrooms, and we settled on painting the room with a bright yellow sun, a light shade of blue, and wavy shades of green.

I also agreed to let them abuse one of the four walls with this honeycomb fantasy thing.

Both sides proclaimed this paint job a win.

Now I have outdone myself empowering the 12-year-old, got a new desk to buy, a new room to paint, and a huge paint color battle ahead.

I will be ruthless. I will not empower the 9-year-old.

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