It comes as no surprise that Little Me and Little You spew forth sometimes odd, sometimes deep, sometimes comical comments on the world around them. I suppose they may get a little of that from their Momma. The three of us are each terribly eccentric in our own little ways. We make for interesting dinner company, that's for sure.
Do you have a big stomach? If so, you must be gay...Little Me told the story this week of how he has a friend who paints his fingernails black. "He's gay then," Little You promptly told him. Little Me was flabbergasted. "No, he's not." The tweenado wouldn't back off though. She argued that if a boy painted his nails, he must be gay.
Little Me looked at her with a disgruntled look and said in complete seriousness, "But, he doesn't have a big stomach." Of course, Little You and I both started laughing and asked him what he was talking about. "You have to have a big stomach to be gay," he said. He was not amused when we doubled over laughing. Not amused at all.
"You know Momma gets tired of us."The past couple of weeks the tweenado has begun her magnificent and scary transformation into a teen. She's wearing her angst on her sleeve, much to the sheer amusement of her brother and myself. I am amazed daily at how she can move at a snail's pace all morning and then leap from my car in the carpool lane at school like a starved lion that just spotted a baby deer. It always makes me smile. It's nice to see your kids growing up to be normal. I'm going to take it as a compliment that she's embarrassed to be seen with her checkbook toting mother.
In the car, as usual, the two of them began a sparring match on the way back from dinner out. They often talk as if I'm not even there. It's kind of nice. It reminds me of my station in life -- their chauffeur.
On this night, the topic was whether or not their Momma ever gets her belly full of the constant bickering, crying, finger pointing, drink spilling, clothes washing, money asking, making us late every morning thing these kids call life. "You know Momma gets tired of us," Little You said casually.
Little Me was suddenly very interested. "What? If she gets tired of us, she'll get rid of us," he said with a little more than a hint of panic.
And then the familiar banter began. Little You claimed she would be the most likely to be kept since she's quieter and can do more for herself. Little Me countered that he likes "to snuggle" and that alone should be enough to garner him safe-keeping. Each threw in their chips of what they did to make them more valuable than the other. To be fair, each was pretty accurate in pinpointing their unique contributions to our little family.
But Little Me won the argument easily. He stepped up to the plate and said that he was going to start doing more housework to help me out and promptly asked me if he could wash the windows and mop the floor this weekend. I have to admit that I was tempted to take him up on his offer for indentured servitude. An extra pair of working hands around this place wouldn't be hard to get used to, that's for sure. I should also note that the darling tweenado kept her trap shut. There was no way that girl was going to start offering up the suggestion that she actually work around the house. Both, it amuses me to point out, made smart moves in entirely different directions. Very interesting...
I kind of wish now that I hadn't taken the time to explain that if I invested nine months of hauling their wiggling, kicking little bodies around in my tummy while they constantly made me try to puke my liver out of my nose all day every day, there was no way I was going to just give them away.
As I was cleaning carpets today, I was gazing out the window at the beautiful day slipping away as I toiled at my motherly duties. It was then that I realized that my windows really do need washing. My helpers? Nowhere to be found.
But, I'm going to keep them anyway. The most valuable things they give me are love and laughter. I can overlook the aggravation and mess that comes with them. The rule in this house is: If it makes Momma laugh, you're not in trouble.
And, I laugh a lot. It's not a bad life.