Momnesia

The most frequent reason I punish my child is for talking

AUGUSTA, GA. - Emerson had her friend, Kayla, for a sleepover, which is always hilarious. I crashed about 11 p.m., but woke at 2 a.m. to the sound of giggles...

I stumble to the bedroom and stop in the doorway, mouth agape.

"We're playing," Emerson says.

"With BOMBS?" I retort.

Every toy she owns is on the floor. Her chair is overturned. Her bed is stripped. The air mattress is deflated. There is a suspicious number of beverage containers and snack wrappers mixed into the mess. They laugh. Apparently, my concern is hilarious.



"This gets cleaned up before we go to the movies tomorrow, right?" I frown.

"Right," they reply, in unison.

"Okay, good. Now, it is Oh-My-God Thirty, and heading towards Mom's-Gonna-Kill-Me O'clock. What do you think that means?"

"Uhh, it sounds like you might need to learn how to tell time," Emerson laughs. Then sees my stony face. Because at Oh-My-God Thirty, mom is the only person allowed to make jokes.


Immediately, she begins stammering an apology. "I'm sorry. That was very rude of me and I take it back."

"Thank you. Bed time," I say, as sternly as one can.

"Yes, ma'am!" They scramble under covers and I flick off the light... and laugh silently all the way back to bed. She's a smarty-pants, but she comes by it honestly.