I survived the great road trip of 2011! Made it back home with fingernails intact and no idiot drivers from Iowa were killed at my doing!
Sunday, I decided to let the girls decorate one of the Christmas trees. Alone. Without my guidance and direction. They put on some Christmas music and after the husband and I spent an hour looking for the faulty bulb in the string of lights, the girls woke up from their boredom induced coma and set out to adorn the tree with all the fun decorations each of the kids has collected over the years. I sat in the kitchen working on a 500 piece puzzle, which had now turned into a mission not to be abandoned before I turned in that night so I could eavesdrop on their conversation and laughter. Sisters. One 16 and one 9. One brunette and one blonde. Both with blue eyes and both the beats of my heart. I was giddy with excitement at my ability to stand back and allow them this special time together without my constant bossing and nagging. Oh the joy I would experience!!! And so it began......
Brunette: What are you doing? Don't put that ornament there - you just put one there - you need to space them out.
Blonde: That's MY ornament sissy - why are you hanging up all of my ornaments?
Brunette: What the frick difference does it make? Jesus Blonde - you're such a brat.
Blonde: No. I'm not a brat. Mommy - why do sissy and brudder have more ornaments than me? I hardly have any?
Me (calmly from kitchen): Because they are older and have amassed them at the rate of 3 or more per year - so when you get to be their age you will have just as many sweetie - no worries.
Brunette: I doubt it, because no one loves you Blonde. They just pretend they do. STOP HANGING THEM RIGHT NEXT TO OTHER. JESUS. I FRICKIN TOLD YOU THAT 10 TIMES ALREADY!!!
Blonde: Sissy - it doesn't matter. Is this yours or brudders?
Brunette: MINE! All of these are MINE. Stop hanging MINE.
And so it went for nearly an hour. With the brunette's text alert sounding every 15 seconds in between the sound of ornaments crashing to the wood floor shattering into a million pieces. The blonde frowning and on the verge of tears and the brunette rushing through the project so she could get back to her texting and tweeting. And I remained calm. At peace with my puzzle that was now threatening to drive me to insanity. And thinking the entire time........ They let people who are only 16 raise children? How? How can it be so? What a horrible.fucking.idea.
And so I made a mental note to put that child on birth control at the first given chance - - - just in case.
And I asked the blonde if she had a good time decorating the tree without mommy. "No."
Great. Another childhood memory I've managed to totally fuck up for this child. I can't win.