Friday, March 24, 2017

Oh, Child

I'm alone in the kitchen right now. It's nice. Sully and Barclay are in the basement playing music—Barclay on electric, Sully on drums. I just went down there to see when they wanted supper, and as soon as Sully heard my feet on the stairs I heard him yell, "Oh no! Mom's coming!"

Ooh, the anticipation.

I poked my head around the corner and smiled at them. Sully did not smile back. He pointed behind me, back up the stairs and said patronizingly, "Mom, this is gonna be really loud. You need to go back to the kitchen."

Oh, child. 
Child of mine, child I birthed, 
Who do you think gave you your thirst for noise?
Your appetite for volume, 
Your hunger for bass in your spine 
And the high-pitched scream in your ears 
Long after the last note has died away?


I, your mother,
Whom you have sent to the kitchen
To mash potatoes
And grate cheese
And also my knuckles

(Also, yeah, we're working on the whole respect and manners thing. Three year olds are super condescending, has anyone else noticed this?)