Thursday, March 1, 2012

Stories from the second

Snack time

"What are you doing, love?"

Eating my boogers.


Because they're delicious.

"Are you sure they're not gross?"

Nope! Maybe yours are gross or other people's are gross, but mine taste like rainbows. For real, Mama. See?

And then she tried to stick her finger in my mouth.


Mama, Jackson's not allowed to watch any TV at all. And it's not even for a punishment. He just isn't allowed. His mommy says if he watches, the batteries will break. Can you believe that? It's not even a punishment.

So I saw Jackson's dad, who told me that at dinnertime Jackson said that his favorite part of the day was playing with L. "That's sweet," I said, and asked if they have a no-TV rule. I explained how L was worrying about Jackson's TV-less-ness. It turns out that Jackson has his own little DVD player, and its batteries are dead. I explained that to L so she wouldn't worry about her friend.

Oh, goodie! she squealed. Because I really love my friends too much to thinking about them living without TV, Mama.


I love you more than you love me, Mama, L says to me now at least three times a day. I've experimented with different ways of saying, no way, nu-uh, you sweet crazy girl, not possible, love is a forward thing and I'll always love you more and that's how it should be, or at least: love isn't a contest, and aren't we so lucky to have each other, or back to: nope, crazy monkey, I'll love you more and you'll love your daughter more and she'll love hers, down and down and down. But she upsets and the accusation, the daring call of her bluff, how could I imply that I don't know the depth of her love? And then her feelings are hurt that I can't testify to the enormity of her feelings, I don't understand, why won't I listen, and now the great gift of her love for me becomes a temper tempest. So now I say only "okay," and I say "thank you," and she smiles beneficently. I am petted on the head by her words. That's a lot of love, she nods sagely, and I prostrate myself to her gifts. It's the only way.

Lovely, lovely malaprops

She orders every time by asking for a cup of rainbow zerbert. And I've never yet had the conviction to correct her.

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