Momnesia

Space Madness - or How My Child Can Drive Me So Crazy That I Could Confuse a Bar of Soap With an Ice Cream Sandwich

Augusta, Ga. - I'm doing my best, amid backbreaking coughing spasms, to get Emmie settled into bed. We've had dinner, played games, read a book chapter. I am searching desperately for the Mucinex as I do our routine. Scott is coming down with what kept me in bed all weekend, and he has gone to bed. But she keeps calling me back.

"Hush, please; I'm going into the bedroom and Daddy's asleep."

And though she agrees, about seven seconds after I open the door, she starts.

"Mama?... Mom?"
"Shhh!"

"Mother!"
"SHHHH!"

"MAMA?!"
"Oh, for crying out-"

I turbo-gimp out the door, shutting it behind me, enter her room with a fury and lean over her.

"Young lady, if I tell you to keep it down because Daddy is asleep, then that is your prime objective - do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," she answers, and wisely does not ask me to define 'prime objective.'

"He is sick, and he has to get up early, and you are not allowed to wake him."

"Okay, mama. But I jus' wanna tell you sumpeend really important."

"What is it, Doodle?"

"I jus' wish dat you an' I could ride on a bid kangaroo and hop into space and den get off on da moon and hab a picnic."

"... That's what was so important that you had to risk waking your sick father?"

"Wull, yeah, 'cause I wanna do it RIGHT NOW."


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