20 November 2009

come back later?

i do have things i'd like chat with you about before the weekend, and i'm planning on heading back here later. if you have a minute, want to come back, too? say yes...

i'll tell you one little quick bit of nonsense now, if you'd like.

last night, i was trying to have a conversation with uncle sugar. in bed. and i tell you that not so you think oooh! but so you remember that i am a co-sleeper sort of parent, apparently. by order of the management. whose name is esmé dahlia.




{it is at this point when it would be completely apropos to clench your fist and hissper esmé in a drat-her! villain voice.}

so. uncle sugar would say something like do you think we should try to go to montauk tuesday? stay until thursday night?

i replied totally. but i don't think uncle sugar heard me. because esmé is a loud bed-talker.

i don't think so. she offered.

we ignored.




oh! i remembered. do you have any cash?

no. sorry. i don't.

which would be odd if that was uncle sugar's response, because that boy always has cash. i think it came with his nickname. however, it was esmé who answered. she's always broke.

this went on and on for as long as we could stand it. like, two more questions answered by her. which may have been fine if she'd...i don't know...been more agreeable? more helpful?

we both lost it. he yelled can i PLEASE HAVE A CONVERSATION WITH MY WIFE? at about the same time i yelled almost the same thing. which may have sounded to the neighbors like esmé! you are KILLING ME!

this offended her. she folded her arms and closed her eyes. her always-grinny mouth went all straight-lined. and i saw it quiver.

ugh.

esmé...i'm sorry...it's just that your dad and i...

at this, she covered my mouth with one very sticky hand.

quiet, mom...go to sleep now...it's the witching hour.

they should be here by noon to stamp my mother-of-the-year i.d. card with a giant revoked. and while i'm sort of joking, i do have this thing about not going to bed sad. i've always told the girlies three that they need to smile right before they fall asleep. no matter their mood at the time. a smile scares away nightmares. i'm pretty sure the three of us IN. THAT. ONE. BED. all had bad dreams. anyway. i will fix that. until then, look at little wing's photos. i found them on need supply's brilliant blog, but i think i remember seeing her on creature comforts ages ago. i could be wrong. but get this: she's seventeen.

10 comments:

Melissa de la Fuente said...

Oh, wow...do I relate. And this hilarity has me grinning ear to ear. :) (see?) I agree, never go to bed sad....I never want my girls to either. I always, no matter how grouchy I get, want them to know. at all times. how MUCH I adore them. Oh, I am coming back later...you know I will.
xoxo
Melis

Kelly said...

oh my, that little one.

xo
kelly

ZDub said...

Oh, you are so in for it. :)

shellbell said...

i just love the way you express yourself. i'll be back later... :)

emily b. said...

can't wait for later! that girl just cracks me up. seriously. just the spunk i needed today :)

Kelly and Kelly said...

I sometimes wonder if we will ever have another conversation again. The kids are *always* talking. I guess it doesn't get any better as they get bigger? ;)

Sarah said...

ugh. [and i mean that in a good way] how do you make me like you more and more every day?

Relyn said...

I do love your focus on going to bed happy. Love, love, love it.

The Lil Bee said...

Seventeen?! She's 17?! w.o.w. WTF was I doing at SEVENTEEN?! Certainly not snapping up magic like this. Actually, let me give myself some credit. I was painting. Painting my little 17-year-old heart out. And writing, too. And certain I would go to school in the fall and graduate a veterinarian, with a minor in painting and creative writing. Four--oops, sorry--FIVE years later I graduated with nothing of the sort, save for the minor in painting. But I do love saving stray animals... so that's something.

But wait! You never even ASKED what I was doing at 17, did you? I am so self-absorbed! Hmmph. OK so PS: tell that little Esme that I love her and that there is a mini-me in the making with our own little villain over here. But, then again, how can you not cuddle them when they're so... so... sticky sweetly deliciously cute?! Impossible.

Here's where you tell me, "Bee? I'm not a book publisher, dear. Save the novel for someone who gives a damn." And with that I shall now sign off:) xo, Bee

bekapirwitz said...

hahahahaha. i'm pretty sure that (by reading this story) i heard you shout that all the way here in missouri!!!
:)