Recently, my husband
and I were in the market for patio materials.
Knowing it would be a lengthy shopping venture and that my only role was
to approve the paver selection, we drove separately. Miraculously, I ended up with only one
child—the elusive middle child—in the car I was driving.
As I cruised off
towards Menards, I cranked up the radio, assuming I was embarking on a
peaceful, pleasant drive where I didn’t have to listen to overly detailed
stories of first grade or repeatedly reach blindly into the backseat to
retrieve tossed pacifiers for a fussy baby.
But before we were out of our neighborhood, my sweet Samantha began
talking. Here’s the gist of the
conversation:
“Hey mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Can you turn the
radio down? I want to sing Frozen for
you.”
Sigh. “Sure.”
“Snow blows cold on
the mountainside, not a footprint… Hey mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you listening?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like
Frozen?”
“It’s got some good
parts.” (Sidebar- do NOT ever tell your daughters you think Tangled has a
better soundtrack than Frozen. This
comment will launch them into a tirade longer than both movies combined and
will make you wish you had Rapunzel-length hair that you could strangle yourself
with.)
“Yeah. It’s pretty good. I like the song “Roar” too. You know, because it’s what a tiger
does. Or a lion. Is it a lion?
Hey, have I singed that song for you about the fieldtrip? You know, where the little kid climbs into
the lions cage and he roars? It’s
definitely about a lion. Can Katherine
sing ‘Call Me Maybe’?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should teach her.”
“Is that Bieber?”
(she’s clearly realized I never turned the radio off—just switched it to the
front speakers only). “I used to like
Bieber. Do you like Bieber? Hey what about Ryan? I don’t know if Ryan is still my
boyfriend. Probably I will still marry
him. Well, him or maybe that Alex. But only if he stops biting me when I take
his toy. That is not nice. Ryan is always
nice. Except I never see him anymore
because his class is a different class from mine. He’s not in the ladybug class. He’s a sailor. Hey, mommy?”
Sigh. “Yep?”
“Are pirates real?”
I hesitate. “Yes.”
“Of course they
are. Would you vote for a pirate? If he wanted to be mayor? If he was a nice pirate?” She barely paused. “No!
Don’t. It’s a trick. When a pirate pretends to be nice, that’s how
you know he’s not nice. Except Izzy,
she’s a nice pirate. Not our neighbor
Izzy, the one on Jake and the Neverland Pirates. Izzy is nice too though. Why isn’t our basement finished? Izzy’s is finished and it is a playroom.”
“We have a
playroom.”
“But we should have
one in the basement too. We could put a
flag in it. Did you know I can say the
Pledge of Allegiance? I pledge allegiance
to the flag of the United States of America.
And to the republic where witches stand, one nation, under god… Mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Sometimes I think
you don’t listen to me.”
“Hmm.”
“Are mermaids real?”
“What do you think?”
“I’ve never seen
one.”
“Just because you
haven’t seen something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
“Yeah, I guess
that’s so, because I haven’t seen any unicorns and they are real. I’m opposed to draw one for school tomorrow.”
“Supposed,” I
correct.
“What do you
suppose?”
“Nevermind.”
“Yeah, because
mommy, those gummy vitamins from Jake and the pirate show, they aren’t even
nice, and they are supposed to taste good so you don’t know you’re eating fish
flavors and stuff. Are we almost there? I have to go potty. And not to pee.”
“I’m driving as fast
as I can.” Trust me.
“Do you have my
underpants?”
“Why would I have
your underpants? Aren’t you wearing
them?”
“Nope. Doesn’t look like it. Huh.
Weird. Maybe Katherine took
them.”
Yep, folks, that was
four minutes of my life. Multiply this
by 300 and you can imagine my day.
You sure are good with dialogue...
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