Friday, January 22, 2010


Children are ruthless creatures. Truly heartless. For instance, when my 6-year-old son suddenly bursts into the bathroom while I'm frantically trying to jump in the shower and his eyes go VERY wide.
"What are those lines on your stomach, Mom?"
"They're reminders that I don't need to have any more kids."
"They're ugly reminders."

Thanks, Lucian. Really appreciate it. Or when the more devious 9-year-old sneaks up behind me and tries to jiggle the fat on the back of my visually scrawny arm.

"Oh my god, Mom, look how it keeps moving."
"It's hyper," I say, pulling on a thick sweater. It's hard to know whether to cry, laugh, or grab them by the back of the neck and throw them out the door. Usually, I just laugh.
"Well, it's not like you guys were small babies."
"Well, it's not like we're babies anymore. You're so skinny but you're so round at the same time."

Little angels. At which point I bite my tongue to keep from mentioning that Anna has appalling body odor and she should eat deodorant for breakfast, or that Lucian's morning breath could kill a walrus, or that the condition of their rooms is equivalent to a sh*tstorm...etc., etc.....
Not a word. The world, in its infinite mercilessness will pick fault with them in plenty of time. I'm here to cushion the blow and carry the pom-poms.

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