I Can Explain

Dear Master of the House,

I can explain.

I got up early this morning because I had the beginnings of a sinus headache and I wanted to be upright in the hopes that I could catch it before it became a total migraine. I turned the air filter in our bedroom up to mask any of the noise associated with making my coffee and I closed the door. I wanted to let you sleep.

Naturally, Jane, with unerring instincts of a child who fights like heck to avoid having to get up on a school day, popped right out of bed and followed me downstairs. I managed to put one shoe on before the demands started. I got her some milk and chicken noodle soup (breakfast of champions) and then I read Garfield cartoons to her until I couldn't take it anymore, whereupon I busied myself making my coffee.

She of Short Attention Span Theater moved on to doing Iron Beads and after I'd added the pound of sugar and quart of half-and-half to my coffee, I was invited to join her. She made a lovely little purse, after I had driven myself to distraction trying to find the color of beads she was using. We have very few of that color, I think. It's either that or my eyes kept crossing because I still hadn't had any coffee.

Anyway, she finished the purse and we went into the laundry room to iron it and She of If You Give A Mouse A Cookie, decided that she wanted to run the dust mop and who am I to quibble with a desire to do some housekeeping? Unfortunately, while I was getting all the stuff ready for her to run the dust mop thing, I got distracted and melted the form on which Jane had placed her beads.

Not only that but her purse came out very lopsided.

Issuing the command that I should "put it on the table and then make another one exactly like it," she ran upstairs to play Polly Pockets with her sister.

Which is why you found me, sitting at the dining room table, in my pajamas with one shoe on and still without coffee, picking out little purple iron beads and crying.

See? I told you I could explain. Now it's your turn. Perhaps you can explain to me why I heard my older daughter say, "Five Card Stud, twos and fives wild" while I was passing the dining room last night?

And also, why I funded this little gambling outing with my extraneous change jar?

No hurry. I'll be picking out little purple beads for some matching shoes when you're ready to explain...


Anonymous said…
In my house if you are under the age of 39 and wake up before 8am then you read or entertain yourself-I call it boundries!
DK said…
He he he...speaking of things you just can't make up...
Hey! No one touches my change jar, dammit!
hokgardner said…
B plays poker with the neighborhood guys once a month, and Ella is desperate to learn how. Last year her Christmas wish list that got posted at school included a request for "pokee cips."
MadMad said…
HA HA! (That's all. What?! Is there a rule that the comment has to be funny, too?!)
Lynn said…
Firstborn and Secondborn taught LittleBit to play poker when she was three. Their friends thought it was fun to play with the little kid. Until she beat them, fair and square.

If you run out of right-color beads, would it work to take a hacksaw and decapitate some Legos?

Just wondering.
Anonymous said…
I am just wondering...exactly when did the cult of the child start? When did they become "ones who must be obeyed"?????
Tiffany said…
I hate to drop in to someone else's blog and be a bitch (can I say that here?), but it draws an unparalleled level of contempt from me when someone wants to say something judgmental but is such a freaking coward that he/she won't own up to it.

"Anonymous" has some important point to make about parenting, something she feels so strongly about that she has to use overblown buzz phrases like "cult of the child" to express it, and yet she can't stand behind it?

Hm. Yeah. That makes me take a person's views very seriously.

Tiffany Sanders (my full, real name...y'all know where to find me)
Marcy said…
gambaling addiction starts early apparently.
Barb Matijevich said…
That makes me laugh! Actually, Coop was using it as a math game. He printed out the probability of getting each hand for Ana and then he made her do all the math adding up her spoils. He's sneaky like that.
Jennifer said…
ok, so my daily routine consists of diapers, more diapers, diaper blowouts, diapers that are yucky and the older baby throws and thinks is funny, bottles, tube feeds, meds, and, uh, diapers.
distraction:as I type this, the almost 2 y/o is watching my fingers tap away at the keyboard and he's quiet...ah, quiet. Quick, I have to keep typing, oh well, he's now attacking the keyboard with his safety scissors. Yes, and I used to be the one to turn my nose up at other peoples' rotten children. Karma stinks. Ah, he's watching again.
Ok, where was I. Uh, oh yeah. So, I do all this stuff, plus laundry, dishes, etc, and my partner comes home to find me collapsed on the couch and has the 'NERVE to say, "what did you do all day?". Arggggggggg.