Momnesia

Hand Me My Teef, Girly Girl

Scott is cooking dinner, and Emmie and I have already had a bath. I'm not really into eating dinner tonight, but he's going to all that trouble, you know?

Then I look at the clock and gasp: It's so late! I need to be finishing housework and getting Emmie - and myself - ready for bed!

And just before I open my mouth to say this out loud, I realize: it is 7 p.m. And I have officially become my grumpy ol' grandmother.

I remember when we used to visit her in Birmingham. There was no running, no loud voices, no toys, no television, no bikes, no bare feet, no neighborhood wandering, no fun, and no staying up after about 7:30. And there was definitely no arguing about that.

Now, I look at the couch and book, and think about the fact that I've been awake since 3 a.m. All I want is to curl up with the whisper of pages turning - and maybe some obnoxiously girly music. I know I won't get it. There's still dinner, story time, and the inevitable Fight for Bed to get through. And I don't resent it. But I'd really like to crawl into bed with that book and drift off to sleep... Maybe wake, partially, around 11 p.m. to turn the light off, and then dream until 5 a.m.

God, I should just join AARP. I'll start having dinner at 4 p.m., lunch at 10 a.m., breakfast the night before... I'll scratch myself inappropriately, complain about the shrinking font in newspapers, and plan my "War Garden." Maybe I'll bake an occasional pan of dry, crumbly cookies with which to torture the neighborhood children. And when they dare venture into my yard to retrieve a wayward ball, I'll stick my head out the window and holler, "Get off my lawn!"

Hmm. Part of me looks, gleefully, forward to that. But for tonight, I'd be happy to have a few minutes with just me and my book.



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