Tuesday, September 29, 2009


Had a psycho momma moment recently, thought I'd share. Hopefully, once again, no one from a government agency is reading this. If so, well, you'll need physical evidence. Keep trying.
Anna and Lucian were in the livingroom wrestling, which ALWAYS turns into pent up, I hate your f***ing guts real fighting once they realize I haven't come in the room for at least two minutes. So, they're wrestling, and the noise is unbelievable. How could two people, totalling in weight at 110 lbs, sound like rabid cougars in the livingroom? I went in, still chomping on a piece of raw pasta (to avoid smoking like 90 butts a day) and all I saw was the flailing. It was a some kind of sick pantomime of "Ebony and Ivory", white Lucian rolling around, his hair matted in places, brown Anna lifting him off the floor in dangerous sweeps of her long arms. I screamed at the top of my lungs, my raw allergen and smoke-filled lungs.
They both stopped dead on the couch. I tried to begin my tirade of how "mom's tired, she needs you to calm down, and focus, and not be such a**holes while she's making dinner" etc.
I made the mistake of looking at Lucian's face. The giant gray eyes, unblinking, in an attempt not to laugh. Anna's face half-hidden behind the couch pillow, her eyes glinting like black coals.
That's when I started laughing. A lot. Seriously, what did I care if they beat the hell out of eachother? I let it melt, all that anger, the last bubble of solid butter in a pan. Poof, done, clarified, reborn as a delicious meal.
The lesson is not that I transformed into ghee. That'd be weird. I'm not sure what the lesson is. I'm not sure that it matters. I am sure that joy and hysteria walk on the same beach and wave to eachother from their piers.
For dinner this evening, leftover pasta with homemade sauce (even better the second time around), some limp salad, half an enclair, and about two minutes of ambiant music until Anna declared that Pavarotti "sounded sick" and could I "turn off the screaming".

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