“Moooooom, she won’t share the phone with me,” Luke whined.
The kids and I were on our way home from my parents’ house. My father had given Madeleine his old cell phone to play with and Luke just had to have it.
“This is why I always tell you to share with your sister. Now you want something from her and she doesn’t want to share because you’ve taught her not to share.”
“She hit me!”
“Don’t put your hand near her then.”
I plugged in my iPod at a red light and the Winnie the Pooh soundtrack came on. It relaxed me instantly.
“I hate this song. Pooh is stupid!” Luke barked.
“Stupid, stupid, stuuupid!” Madeleine sang.
“Don’t say that word. It’s not nice,” I said.
“God damn!” Madeleine shouted excitedly. This is one of her latest exclamations, and I’m not sure where she got. God damn is not a phrase I blurt out often, if ever.
“Shut up, stupid! You’re stupid!” Luke shouted, “Mom, make her give me the phone!” He enunciated each word.
We have to cross a bridge to get to our town and at this moment the bridge was up so a boat could pass beneath it. Great, we’re stuck here and I’m listening to nonsense about shut-up-God-damn-and-a-cell-phone. I considered tearing into the package of whoopie pies I had bought earlier at Trader Joe’s and stress-eating all six of them. The bridge began to go back down. Relief. I remembered just then that our street was having a block party. We had to park a few blocks away and schlepp everything to the house. Michael was home by then. We quickly bathed and put to bed our sleepy, grouchy darlings and sank into the sofa with a glass of wine, as the DJ blasted music that we don’t particularly like. The loud, booming kind. There was also karaoke. Enough said.
I did reward myself with one whoopie pie.