Dats a bad word!

“Mom-did I tell you I signed for the secret Santa at school and that I got assigned toys and…well…oh…Like I need a toy for 5 month old by, like, uh…tomorrow,” stutters by 12-year old. Segue: my 12 year old who had just lost her phone a few hours ago for loading dirty dishes in with the clean dishes. Again.

“Uh, like, no-you failed to mention that,” I say incredulously. You see she mentioned this to me while I was laying down with my 4 year old-tucking her in FOR THE NiGHT.

She has the audacity to be irritated, “Mmmmmaaaaaaammmmmmm,” this is her “tell”–elongated words that have no business being elongated and odd sounding vowel sounds. Her I am about to push every button you have tell. “Eye hhhhhhaaaaffffff to take something.”

I mumble (loudly) that she should have thought of that prior to bedtime. To which she argued,”but I like totally forgot.” I had heard this argument just hours before.

“Like you forgot that 1/2 the dishes were clean when you loaded the dirty ones. Again?!”

That flies right by her. Just like that speech on being responsible. She’s in full on mom-you-ruin-my-life-and-it’s-all-your fault-mode. “Don’t you have anything. It can be used. Ms. Teacher saaaaaaiiiooiddddd it could.” That elongated and irritating vowel sound is also her lie tell.

Her big brother chimed in,”Thats stupid. Why would they let you take some used toy for Santa presents…it’s supposed to be a good deed.”

Let me take a moment to paint this picture. All 3 children are in one large room. My son is in the glorified closet so he’s got a trifold door. For all intents and purposes it’s one large open room. I am curled up on a crib sized cushion that my daughter is sleeping on because the accidents at night have rendered her used mattress unsleepable. It’s late. Too late. After 10 late because baby girl won’t go upstairs alone and 15 year old child doesn’t particularly want to go to bed at 8:30; especially when we don’t get home until 8:25. Now you have the setting I’ll continue with my tale.

Dude dare contradict girl and it’s on like donkey kong. They stand there arguing with phrases like, ‘things might have changed since you went to that school ya know” and “lying” and “needy kids used toys…” And so on and so on and so on. The dog is running circles jumping up and bouncing around thinking this scuffle is all kinds of fun. Baby girl is crying-it’s late and she still doesn’t feel good–kids are screaming at one another-dog is acting a fool and we are still without promised present for a baby.

And I lay there thinking, ‘I had such a big day and this is how it ends?’

As is usual sassy girl out talks wonder boy who stalks off. It’s pretty hard to make a dramatic escape to your own room when you don’t have a door to slam. Sliding a tri-fold door across plush carpet is not nearly as satisfying. He tried though.

Without a target Priss turns her attention to me. “What exactly is it that you want me to do??” I demand. She hurrimphs and throws up her hands and spins around like Glenda the Good witch in the Wizard of Oz. Too bad she wasn’t-she could have conjured up a baby toy.

After her whining and complaining a few more times I–I am ashamed to admit this–said, “What exactly is it that you want me to do at 10:15 at night?” Oh I can’t believe I said this, “pull something out of my butt?????”

The shameful words are no sooner out of my mouth then baby girls peeks up from her almost asleep daze, pops her thumb out of her mouth and says,”Mama! Dats a bad word. You no say butt.”

And so ends my grand and victorious day. Using a bad word while depriving some small child of a Santa toy.

The battle ground:



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