Destiny fulfilled.

I often marvel at how much The Deuce, a conscientious fourth grader, reminds me of me when I was her age.

Nearly every day, she says, does or tries to get away with something I would've when I was a kid. And this weekend, once again, she fulfilled my mother's warning that someday, I would have a kid who acts just like I did.

Deuce has a flair for the dramatics. She can whip up tears in seconds and deliver a heart-wrenching performance worthy of an Oscar with little-to-no effort. She'll find her cause (wanting to stay up late, go to a friend's, play her video games) and when faced with opposition, will launch into a tear-soaked commentary on the unfairness of life.

This past weekend she delivered one of her finest performances, sparked by my request for her to help me clean her room. (Notice I said HELP ME clean her room -- not do it herself?)

She launched into a gut-grabbing soliloquy where she listed numerous injustices I'd delivered, marked by a curious case of selective memory. Apparently, I love her siblings more than her, fail to let her come and go as she pleases (she's 9!) and, insult of insults, like spending time at work more than with her. (As if.)

Each of her claims were baseless -- and deep down she knew it. Still, I let her go on and on, ranting about her tragic life and how unfair I was because I'd asked her for some help with housework.

When she was beginning to wind down, I tried something new -- an ace I'd had up my sleeve that nobody knew about. A tactic in my Arsenal of Mom Moves that I'd never used before:

I channeled my mother and delivered one of The Best Bleeding Heart Martyr Speeches in the History of the World.

As a kid, my mom was the ultimate martyr. She could whip out guilt-inducing one-liners and comebacks that'd make your head spin. One minute, you'd be asking for $5 for the movies and the next thing you knew, she'd be making you feel awful for even asking because of how hard she worked and how ungrateful you were.

At the time, I thought it was annoying. Now, I see it was a defense mechanism -- my new defense mechanism.

So, when Deuce finally began to wind down, I let her have it, with both barrels.

"You know Deuce," I began. "I love you kids more than anything in the whole wide world and it breaks my heart to be accused that I don't."

I continued to explain that I work hard to provide all of her basic needs -- and more -- and explained how being a parent is a never-ending balancing act between a world of have to's and want to's.

And then I said it:

"I work hard for you kids and nobody appreciates it. Instead of hearing, "Thanks, Mom!" I hear how nothing I do for you is good enough."

Seeing that this was my first martyr speech, I couldn't muster up full-fledged tears, but I did manage to get a little misty during the delivery.

Deuce sat on the edge of her bed, her head hanging low. She conceded and began helping me pick up her room. When we were done, we hugged and told each other how much we love and appreciate each other.

I think my mom's warning 28 years ago came true in more ways than she expected.

Not only did I get a kid that acts like I did, but I turned into my own mother in the process. A curious double whammy, an odd passing of the torch.

Trying on the martyr suit felt different and I'm not sure if I'll wear it again soon, but it did give me the desired effect. It shut down Deuce's pity party and made her more aware of other peoples' feelings.

To date, I haven't told Deuce that I hope her kids act just like she does, but in time, I'm sure I will.

It's my destiny. And hers too.