March 01, 2008 04:00 am The only problem with this column-writing gig is that there are weeks when my life is not very interesting. I don't know if it's a late-winter funk or a rare calm spot before a storm, but it's been quiet around here. I keep staring at my kids, mental notebook in mental hand, waiting for them to be amusing so that I will have something to write about. Once again, they are proving that they are not extensions of my own will, ready to do tricks on my command. That's a lesson I learned early on when the Diva was a baby. Once she learned how to splash in the tub or stand on her own or babble "dada," we'd always try to show other people. "No, really," we'd say. "She's been doing (insert spectacular feat here) all week!" She'd promptly give the other person a look that made it clear that her parents were big fat liars. Splash? What is the splashing you speak of? You know my parents are nuts, yes? She'd glare at us and clearly think, "I am not your trained monkey." That look has pretty much set the tone for the last five years. The Diva is her own person and her will is mighty. That's not a bad thing, however. The downside to giving your daughter the nickname "Diva" is that it implies in some ways that Diva-ness is undesirable or unwelcome. We love her because of who she is, not despite or because of her Diva tendencies. Apart from deadlines during weeks when little happens, the big problem with writing a column like is that I live here, as do my kids. It's always a hoot to have someone recognize me from the picture that runs with this _ I am taller and thinner and more Heidi Klum-esque in person, by the way _ and the Diva is always interested when someone asks if she's The Diva. The Dude couldn't care less if he is recognized. Lately, the only things he cares about are toys with wheels. If you have one of those, then you'll be the coolest person in the room. But the downside to this column is that I don't want my writing to negatively influence how my daughter is perceived. We call her the Diva not because she is prone to thrashing, operatic fits, although she has been known to toss one every now and again. If irrational fits were the heart of her personality, we'd call her the Drama Queen. "Diva" initially came from her love of all things pink and sparkly. You should see her room. It is so pink that it still startles me late at night if I'm not overly awake. It hums in the darkness like a great big mouth about to eat me. The Diva loves it, though, which is what's important. Beyond the pink, the Diva is "The Diva" because of her utter conviction that she is the center of our household stage. The problems, when there are problems, stem from her parents unwillingness to play along. The Diva's will is mighty. Neither my husband nor I have an enormous problem with this, within reason. A strong will is something that will serve her well in later life, especially in a culture that is still uncomfortable with women who speak their minds. Sticking to your convictions is a net good. Which doesn't mean it isn't a pain in the rear end. Once she sets her feet, she can be remarkably hard to move. But slowly _ very, very slowly _ she's learning that her strong will didn't just emerge from the ether. The other female in the house can also be a bit of a Diva and just as immobile at times. I like to think that my inner Diva has been tempered with 30-plus years of learning about what it's worth getting all Diva-y about. Some days are better than others, of course. The Dude has been determined to test my ability to let the little annoyances slide. He's discovered that he can reach light switches and takes great joy in controlling a room's illumination. It's like living in a disco, which is getting on this Diva's last nerve. Between the Diva's will and the Dude's inner lighting designer, things are usually fairly interesting around here. But not right now. Not even if I ask them to do something interesting because I have a deadline. Because they are not my trained monkeys, no matter how much easier it would be if they were. Adrienne Martini is freelance writer, instructor at the State University College at Oneonta and Hartwick College, mom to Maddy and Cory and wife to Scott and author of "Hillbilly Gothic," published by the Free Press.
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