I just spent 45 minutes walking in circles around my house scrolling through memes. Why. Whhhhhhhy did I waste all that time!!???
Thank goodness my car beeps. Or it would have taken years to locate.
***Disclaimer: Not suitable for children***
“I’m starting to think that elves aren’t real.” My 11 year old daughter announced her theory with a note of despair. “I was going through your Amazon order history and saw the Elf on a Shelf package.”
My fingers gripped the steering wheel a wee bit tighter as I blinked. Okay. I got this. Sure. Glancing backwards at her anxious face, I sucked in some air. “That’s not the one that Santa gave us. I ordered that for your aunty.” I began feeling quite pleased with my explanation so I rattled on sensibly. “But I had to return it because your aunty didn’t want to move the elf around every day. You know. She wanted to stick with the ceramic elf so it just sits there.”
“Ahhh! You told me!” Her childlike voice accused me harshly. “You just told me it’s not real!”
“What? No, that’s not what I said.”
“Yes, it is! You just said you move the elf!”
“I said that? No, your aunty doesn’t want to move-ohhhh dear. I didn’t, no, you didn’t-” I stopped stuttering. My shoulders visibly drooped as my hands dropped to the bottom of the steering wheel. “Wow. I just told you.”
Her voice wobbled. “So is Santa real?” She was asking me to kill her childhood fantasies on the way to pick up her sister. Great.
“I guess you are old enough to know the truth. You have been questioning it a lot recently, anyway.” A grimace escaped as I admitted to a lifetime of lies.
“Is the tooth fairy real?”
Oh, I have been waiting for this particular moment. I released a sigh of utter relief. “You don’t know how long I have been struggling to keep that up!” I confessed to my child. “It’s time you knew how hard it is to do that job. And yes, it was me who stole your tooth fairy pillow. But it was an accident, I swear!”
My daughter abruptly sobbed, “You ruined everything! I hate you!”
Well, I didn’t expect that.
My eyes narrowed suspiciously at my daughter’s arm. She was on her side in bed, and this dubious limb was dangling behind her hip. “Are you digging your butt?”
“Nooo… no, I’m not digging my butt. See?” Her questionable fist swung around with the ferocity of a tiger. An index finger jammed into my left nostril before my brain sluggishly processed the attack.
I flew backwards with a grunt and was grateful for the pillow that caught my head. Staring at the empty air in front of me, I sniffed timidly. She chortled next to me, quite proud of having proved her finger innocent. This time.
1. Your baby coughs in your mouth and you barely bat an eye.
2. People stare at your chest until you realize it’s not admiration, but disgust toward the baby snot smeared all over it.
3. You are eating cookies with your kids and need to interrogate them. “Who licked a cookie and put it back?” Everyone feigns innocence while your tongue screams out that it was soggy.
4. You frantically roll the windows down while gasping, “Who did it? Who did it?!”
5. To be continued. (You understand being constantly interrupted)
6. You know how to butt block the oven to keep the kids from getting burnt as they run past.
7. One look at your baby’s face is all it takes to know they are pooping in their diaper or pull up.
8. You can sing “Let it Go” with great enthusiasm.
9. You claim your phone battery died so you don’t have to play that song one more time.
10. Sometimes you just eat the rest of your kids plates instead of bothering to make your own.
She bit the right side of her lip as she stared at the screen. Emptiness. How could her mind race so fervently, but not settle on a single coherent thought to share? Numerous events challenged her greatly, yet she could not bring herself to share any of her happiness or torment. Both were in great supply. Time (greatest enemy, remember?) played a factor in these battles. Was her soul lost again? Did her strength fail her? What drove her to such despair? Ah, if she could only find the answers to her own heart.
I peered at the bright computer screen. Hmm. I cocked my head to the side as I studied the details of my report. Finally, I ripped my gaze from my work and glanced toward the doorway. And did a double-take.
“AHHHHHHH!” I clamped my hand over my mouth; my chest struggled to breath. I stared into my brother’s face, mere inches from my own. “What are you d o i n g?” I gasped out. It felt exactly like a reenactment of Lydia’s mom presenting her sculpture of Beetlejuice to her husband in the den.
“Can you check me for Pin Worms?” He angled his butt toward me.
“Come on. It has to be at night. Just use the flashlight on your phone.”
I couldn’t suppress my laughter any longer. “No, I’m not looking at your butt hole!” I stationed my head carefully away from him, in case he tried to pull his pants down. I wasn’t certain of his boundaries.
“It will just take a few seconds. I’m worried about Pin Worms.” His voice was smooth and patient in his attempt to persuade me.
“Come on. A quick look.”
“Go ask mom to look at your butt hole!”
“No, I can’t wake her up to look at my butt.” He paused thoughtfully. “Would it help if I just laid down on my side?”
I huffed, “No! Stop, I’m never in my life going to look at your butt hole.”
“But, I shaved it. There’s no hair.”
I closed my eyes to regain composure. I was grinning, but truly terrified. “Is your butt itchy?”
He gave me an exasperated look. “I don’t KNOW. Ever since you told me there’s Pin Worms going around, I feel like my butt is itchy.”
Unavoidable giggles escaped me. Who doesn’t laugh at an itchy butt? “Give it up, I’m not looking at the folds of your butt hole. Ever.”
He squinted at me with irritation as he finally walked away. I swear I will die if he ever pulls his cheeks apart for me to investigate. Really.