I pushed open the door to my daughter’s room. As I strode toward her, she looked up at me sheepishly. I put my arm on her shoulder.
“Mom, I just farted.”
“Oh…I see,” I breathed out carefully, “then I shall only exhale.. ” How lucky I was, that I had not yet refilled my lungs.
My feet shuffled quickly backwards, still slowly exhaling until I spun to dart through the exit.
I made it!
“Mom.” Her voice brushed softly against my ear. I turned my head to look at my 5 year old. She continued. “Who is gonna be our mom when you die?”
I blinked. “What?”
“I don’t want you to die. But who is gonna be our mom?” Tears rimmed her big eyes.
“Oh, honey, I am not dying. But I will always be in your heart, no matter what happens. I can be an angel and watch out for you forever.”
“But how do angels die?”
Even though I am an avid Supernatural fan, I tried to reassure her. “Angels don’t die. So I will watch you all the time.”
“But who will take care of us if you are an angel?”
Oh, come ON! Do all five year olds question death and caretakers every few days? I hugged her tight. “Your aunty will take care of you.”
She paused to think, staring at the wall behind me. “Okay. Can I watch movies now?”
I sighed and stroked her hair. “No. Please go to sleep. Shhhhh.”
Poking my head around the corner, I sniffed the air a few times. “Oh.” The tendrils of a slightly putrid odor flew up my nostrils.
My feet took me closer to the door and I called out to my 5 year old sitting on the toilet. “Good job!”
I looked dubiously over at my coffee cup. It was sitting in time out in the corner of my desk. A deep rumbling exploded from my abdomen. Damn! I kept my gaze concentrated on my paperwork and hoped no one would realize that morning coffee betrayed me. No! Not at work! A sigh escaped as I calculated 7 more hours of torturous trapped gases to endure.
I may not be the most conventional mom.
Thank goodness my car beeps. Or it would have taken years to locate.
I recently had a boyfriend. It sounds weird to me. Boyieeeeee freeeeend.
I am a grown-ass woman saying I had a boyfriend. I felt like I was either 15 years old or married most of the time.
He wants to know what he did to push me away. He misses me.
What can I really say? You’re a swell guy, but I need to be independent. I cannot really explain it. I am a free bird.
My 15 year old daughter recently reeled in her first boyfriend. I don’t even know why annoying her gives me such intense pleasure, but I make the most out of every opportunity.