My Roommate Pees her Pants

On Monday night, while I was at rehearsal, Boy hit his chin on the edge of a bookshelf and had to go to Urgent Care. He was running at full speed across the playroom (as is his habit) when he tripped. His wound was (Mother told me) almost as wide as it was long, and he had to get 9 stitches. The doctor said Boy was the best patient he'd ever had, but Mother came home concerned. "He was so blank," she said, "just completely compliant, as if he wasn't even there." When Boy knocked on my door the next morning, he told me first thing that he had hurt his chin and had had to go to the doctor. "Did it hurt?" I asked. "Yeah." He said. "But I was wheely, wheely bwave." During breakfast it seemed Boy was still in shock. He sat there eating his eggs and didn't once encourage Girl to make a bad decision. As much as meals with Boy and Girl are sometimes unpleasant due to tears of frustration (by Girl; WHY AM I LOCKED IN THIS CHA...

Today Father and Mother and Boy and Girl are going to a friend’s house to carve pumpkins. During breakfast this morning, Father asked Boy if Boy knew where they’d be going today. Boy thought for a moment and then his eyes lit up. “Costco?!?”

Mother is training for a half marathon and this morning ran 12 miles. When she came back from her run, she barely looked tired. Mother is a badass. She asked Boy, “Do you remember how many miles I ran?” “Eight?” Asked Boy. “More than that,” answered Mother. “Eighty?” Oh Boy. That’s an example of all or nothing thinking.

Girl and I have a complicated relationship. Not only am I not Mother or Father, I also have a nose stud she can't touch, necklaces she can't put in her mouth, and hair too short to pull. This morning she wandered into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth and gave my Sonicare the stink eye for the full two minutes (the vibration of the toothbrush has a pitch; it takes some getting used to). Sometimes when I come home from work and walk into the dining room, she is happy to see me. Sometimes when she sits on my lap to look at a book, she leans back against my chest, and let's me rest my cheek on her downy hair. Sometimes she is so mad I am not Mother or Father, I think she would punch me in the face if she had the strength. But I do have a belly that's soft like a bean bag chair onto which she loves to collapse when I am lying down, and I'm willing to put necklaces on Big Dog to make her laugh. Let's be honest: I would do just about anything to make Gi...

As I left the house this afternoon on my way to a play, all four of my roommates were sitting down to lunch. I said goodbye, and Boy shouted, “Bye, Poopie!” Mother said, “That is not nice. You may have hurt Deb’s feelings.” Mother wants us all to always be kind. Father said, “That isn’t funny and no one is laughing.” Mother said, “You need to think of a different way to say goodbye.” Boy and I looked at each other. Boy is only allowed to use bathroom words in the bathroom. This means that often while he poops he is yelling, “POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP” because he is allowed to. “Good bye, Noodle!” I shouted  to him. “Goodbye, Noodle!” He replied, even though we all, Mother and Father included, knew Poopie was a perfectly hilarious nickname.

Today Girl ate a green crayon. Father was making a grocery list while Mother showered and I wrote the previous blog post. Girl was unattended for perhaps 2 minutes, but her lips and mouth were green for many hours. Tomorrow I will drop Girl off at Awesome S’s daycare, as Boy has a doctors appointment at 8am to which both Mother and Father are accompanying him. I will tell Awesome S to watch out for bright green poops.

This morning Mother was awoken at 6am by the Beach Boys hit single Good Vibrations coming from the record player in the living room. She came downstairs and found Boy standing on the counter top next to the oven in his footie pajamas with a bag of gummy candy he had found on the highest shelf. The only reason he had yet to shove all the gummy candy into his mouth was that he could not open the bag. Poor Boy. After conquering the counter you were foiled by some melted plastic. Word of advice: next time forget the record.