me: it’s time for bed. turn off the tv in the playroom and go get ready.
them: [all kinds of wailing and whining, then whispering and silence]
them: mama, look at us. [each slowly crawls out of playroom looking sad with their heads down ] slow, mournful song plays in the background.
me: [stifling laughter]
last night, while i was making cookies, 10yo decided she would tell 7yo and me a story. it went something like this:
10yo: once upon a time, there was nothing to say. the end.
me: um, that kinda sucked as a story. [7yo agreed]
10yo: fine. i’ll do it again.
after about 3 more tries where the story gets marginally longer but still manages to say nothing, 10yo enlists the help of 7yo to act out this story.
10yo: once upon a time [7yo points to wrist like a watch], in a galaxy far far away [yes, i do teach my kids the important things in life] [7yo makes grand sweeping motions like the galaxy, then points far away], there were a bunch of people who didn’t do much of anything at all [7yo shrugs] and eventually they all died of boredomitis [7yo drops on the floor].
me [trying not to crack up]: everyone dies? that still kinda sucks. [7yo again agrees]
10yo: fine. so they all came back to life as kickboxing zombies and got rid of all the bad guys. [7yo jumps up and does karate moves with a weird look on her face] the end.
me: [drops head down and laughs so hard i nearly cry into the cookie batter]
me [to 7yo]: it’s bedtime.
7yo: I WILL NOW LEAVE THE ROOM IN AN EXTREMELY WEIRD WAY. [wiggles, hops, jumps, spins, dances, tumbles out the door with a bizarre look on her face]
whereupon daddy and i look at each other, shake our heads and start laughing.
i walk in the door coming home from work. 7yo runs up to me to say hello.
daddy: did you tell mama about me?
7yo: daddy has a bandage on his arm. he says he was bitten by a zombie and now he’s going to turn into a zombie. and when he’s tired, he wants to eat brains. [giving daddy very skeptical look]
daddy: and i’m coming for you later, tasty brain girl. [7yo screams and hides behind me, pretending to shake with fear]
me: so glad i came home. [contemplates going back to work]
i come out of the bathroom. both kids are snickering. i look around suspiciously but see nothing. 9yo whispers to 7yo and tries to get her to tell me something. 7yo refuses.
9yo: 7yo said you said she could use your labeler.
me: um, no, i didn’t. [narrows eyes at them] what did you do?
9yo: well, we made some labels….. [laughing behind her hand]
7yo: i typed in “bum” and made a label to stick on my bum!!! [giggling crazily and turning around to show me her bum]
9yo: and then we typed in poopy and pee……. [cracking up and showing me labels]
me: stop. just stop. now. [drops head sadly]
this is clearly daddy’s fault, as they KNOW i don’t want to hear about bums or toilets or whatever. maybe i should just be happy they are organizing?
9yo: i need 9 lbs of cocktail weiners!!!
9yo: what? when i say that, it means i would like some tortilla chips off the top of the fridge! [looks at me as if i’m dumb]
me:…because, of course.