I don't understand why all these enlightening moments keep happening in the bathroom while I'm combing her hair.
Yesterday, there I was. She was chattering. I was thinking about boy number one and his sometimes overwhelming oneness. I'll soften it by calling it 'originality'.
I try to be nice.
It's hard sometimes.
Especially when all I want to say is,
"Yes, I'm talking to you, The sillykin-doodle-puddinghead-sputterpuss with my best bath gel spread all over your body and over every surface of the bathroom! If I catch you at that again you will spend the rest of your life in your room with nothing to eat or drink but Spam, Pam-spray and spinach s-t-p-andwiches and--and--and warm -ummm- guacamole juice!"
But since I'm nice, I keep it toned down to about 865 decibels and say semi-sanely,
"Get your tail back in the tub before I give you something to cry about other than the soap in your eyes!"
Then I throw in the BIG one, (Don't try this at home)
"And don't make me call your father!"
Ha! That always gets 'em.
Back to the thinking and combing.
T-boy was not in the bathroom this time. Pip was in the swing. Suddenly, Pip was making a strange strangled noise.
I peeked out the door, while trying to hold all my fingers in Bee's french-braid. Turns out the noise was a good one. Pip was laughing hysterically as T-boy jumped off the couch. Over and over T-boy jumped and every time, Pip laughed.
And it hit me.
"He is teaching Pip everything he knows."
"Pip thinks he's wonderful and is going to copy everything his brother does."
"T-boy didn't need a twin to push me over the edge, he is slowly but surely creating a clone of himself."
"T-boy is going to be egged-on by his little shadow and be driven to higher and higher things to jump off."
"Thank goodness Nebraska has no mountains!"
P.S.The braids ended up crooked. Kind of like my logic. I keep telling myself that crooked is better than non-existent.
"Crooked is better than non-existent. Crooked is better than non-existent. Crooked is better-"