A Real Conversation

Scene: Saturday morning.  Grace's bedroom.  Helping her clean up (because she is super type A {actually diagnosed with OCD} and my refusal to fold the laundry drives her bonkers and so she folds the clothes in her drawers almost daily. And I pretty much don't care if her room is clean so long as there is a path. God gave me a kid with OCD to teach me discipline.  It isn't working.) She has turned on the radio and we are dancing and singing while cleaning to Call Me Maybe.  Then, on comes REO Speedwagon. 

Me: OH MY GOSH!  This is my jam!!!(Singing into imaginary mic while swaying) What started out as friendship has grown stroooonger...

Grace: MOM!  No singing. 

Me: But it's REO Speedwagon.  

Grace:  This is my room!  No singing!  You can wip sync.  

I begin to hand her clothes to put away whilst lip syncing into a roll of socks.  I am amazing. I am Joseph Gordon-Levitt on the late show.  I grab Mollie and pretend she is my guitar. She is cackling. I can't hold it in so I must whisper-sing.

Me: And even as I wander...

Grace: STOP SINGING!!!! I will turn off the wadio!  WE.  ARE.  CWEANING!!!!!

Me: (at the top of my lungs with Mollie jumping on the bed next to me.  I am standing on her bed, crooning into socks.  I throw my arms and socks in the air as I fall to my knees.) I CAN'T FIGHT THIS FEELING ANYMORE!  IVE FORGOTTEN WHAT I STARTED FIGHTING FOR!!!

Grace rolls her eyes and stomps her foot.  She throws a pair of leggings at me.  I catch them and toss them around my neck like a scarf. I am now off the bed, dramatically gesturing like some bad liturgical dancer. 

Me: AND THROW AWAY THE OARS, FOREVER!!!!

Grace: (She cocks her head to the side.  Her eyes widen.) Dis is da song from da Lorax?

Me: (crawling...obviously) AND IF I HAVE TO CRAWL UPON THE FLOOR...

Grace begins to dance.  First an arabesque as she folds tights (seriously, who the heck folds tights? My 5 yr old, that's who.).  We dance and sing around the room, Grace tidying and me singing at the top of my lungs. And then suddenly, as if REO Speedwagon gave her permission, she snags a few pairs of tights and throws them in the air. Mollie dances in the rain of socks and tights.  Grace begins to laugh until she falls down.  

Me: And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I miiiight...  Okay, Grace, this next part you've gotta really crank it up and sing with me...

Grace: (bangs her fists twice on the bed like a drum) BABY I CANT FIGHT THIS FEELING ANYMORE!!!! 

By the end of the song we are breathless and covered in socks.  And my daughter, maybe for the first time in her sweet little life, isn't upset that her bed is rumpled, her sister is in her room messing with her stuff and there are socks everywhere.  

Thank you, REO Speedwagon.  Thank you.  

Slumber Parties and Sleep Stalkers

So when Sloan travels, I typically let one of the kids sleep with me on one of the nights.  We rotate weekly and everyone gets even turns.  They all know this. However, one child in particular gets bent out of shape on weeks it is not this child's turn.  Mostly this means extra books read at bedtime and the promise of morning snuggles.  

Last night, struggling with a cough, the bothered child chose to come into my room and glare at me for two hours.  Like face three inches from my head and nostrils flaring.  (Think super creepy and stalkery.) When not rubbing said child's back and assuring the child that the child was loved and cherished, I mostly tried to sleep through it.  Because seriously, I'm over this game.  I think at one point I said to the child, "If heavy breathing is all you got for me, I'm going back to sleep. I don't care if you stare at me."  This further infuriated the child but I just rolled over.  Because at 4am, I will not be held hostage by just a clenched jaw and scrunched face.

About thirty minutes later, after dreaming of Sloan and I being super spies (confession: sometimes the role of Sloan Phillips was played by Jeremy Renner), I heard a thud, a yelp, a scurry and then a slammed door.  I'd rolled over and inadvertently elbowed child in the face, causing the child to fall and then retreat to the child's room.  

Is it bad that I didn't pursue the child but smiled and returned to my dream where I was skinny and saving the world with Hawkeye?  I mean, my dress was fabulous and I could run in heels.