Sunday, December 9, 2012

"Shut up, and let me entertain you."

The day was less than productive but better than boring. A clean house is a spiritual house, at least that is what the drunk woman at a bar once told me. I’m not exactly sure what the woman’s soap-boxing has to do with today, but nevertheless I cleaned. 

The squids, however, had other ideas--ideas that left me cleaning and re-cleaning for a large portion of the day. 

The morning was blissful. The squids played quietly, talking themselves through fantastic adventures. It was kind of like Dungeons and Dragons without the D20 die.

As the day lingered into night, I was feeling one-with-the home. I sighed, peacefully, then realized that the house was entirely too quiet. 

“Where’s your brother?” I asked my daughter. 

“I don’t know.” Magnolia sighed, not looking up from her computer. “We parted ways after the incident in the bathroom.”

The bathroom had exploded with toilet paper, both wet and dry, and tampons. Argh. My son is an intelligent creature--intelligent enough to avoid the consequences of the "bathroom incident" and put himelf to bed. 

The phone rang, and it was for my daughter. With deft spying skills, I listened in to her side of the conversation. "Hey. Yeah, I've got Mockingjay. Yeah, I'll bring it to you. What have I been up to? Oh, you know, just being my awesome self."

Magnolia victoriously played one too many games of solitaire today, and I thought it was necessary to discuss life goals. “What do you expect to do with your life when you get old, Magnolia?” 

“I won’t get old, Mom. If I live with you and never go to college then I’ll never grow up. 

“Oh dear god,” I said, avoiding the desire to hurl. I’ve heard of manchild syndrome but never womanchild syndrome. I’ve feared that one of them would experience some failure to thrive, and Magnolia feeds on those fears voraciously. 

“I know, right?” Her little smile peeks over the computer. “Could you pass me some Doritos? I can’t reach. I’m too busy awesomming.” 

This is the song she proceeded to sing: 

“I’m gonna be forever young, I’m gonna be forever young. I’ll live in your basement forever, forever, forever.” 

I grabbed the computer and challenged her completion time with electric speed. Or something like that. Magnolia sat behind me and breathed heavily. “Gosh, Mom, if it weren’t for me, you’d lose. It’s a good thing I’m here to give you hints. It’s like I’m your hintometer.”

I groaned and she continued. “You’re doing it wrong!” She reprimanded. 

“Oh no.” 


“I’m my mother.” 

“And how do we feel?” I asked, feeling smug. 

“Oddly, depressed.” 

The smugness subsiding, I did what any mother ought to do in this moment: The trump card. "Bed." 

The little whiner rag-dolled herself down the hall, then turned and said, "I still love you. Even if you're old and bad at solitaire." 

"Love you, too, stinker." 

She giggled fiendishly as she walked away. Maybe it wouldn't be bad to have her around all the time.....