“Well, the neighbor said mom snuck out of the country, but left a number where she could be reached, so that was dumb.”
Now is as good a time as any to take a break from making, what I can assure you are, less than angelic Angel Food cupcakes, let the smoke clear, and drink the last of this coffee …the times it’s been reheated are no matter. It’ll probably melt my face off, regardless.
(Actually, it’s kind of a miracle the cupcakes were made at all, considering the rate I’m being questioned these days. I can’t say I was particularly ready to move into this stage of parenting, but you can’t stunt their growth with horrible crock pot recipes forever.)
The twins don’t nap anymore, which is great because now they have time to fill the day with all sorts of queries. Some I can answer. Others I can’t hear over the clinking of the ice in my high ball. But the good news is they’re developing and curious. The bad news is they rarely accept my answer to anything.
“Momma?”
“Yes?”
“Can I have dinner?”
“It’s 7am. It’s time for breakfast.”
“I want dinner.”
“Momma?”
“Uh huh.”
“This toy won’t work.”
“That’s because it’s out of batteries. We’ll get more later.”
“But it won’t work. See? It’s not working.”
“That’s because it’s out of batteries. They make it go.”
“Mama? Why won’t it turn on?”
“Because Mommy’s will to drive to the store died with her last attempt to find clean pants yesterday.”
“Why you sleepin?”
“Because I’m tired.”
“Why you sleepin?”
“Because this comedy segment neatly scheduled in my life is exhausting.”
“But why you sleepin?”
“What you doing in the bathroom?”
“Going to the bathroom.”
“Can we come in?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“But what you doin in there?”
“Hiding.”
“See, we got in. What you doing?”
“I’m done, actually. Who wants this copy of Style?”
By the end of the day, my hands are visibly shaking. This works out great for cocktails, but my grocery lists have seen better days. Husband has stopped asking questions altogether, and simply nods when he sees me hiding under a table or in a cabinet.
“Your dinner’s in the fridge,” I whisper from the coat closet.
“I take it you live there now.”
“This jacket provides both shelter and warmth. The scarves have accepted me into their tribe.”
At any rate, I know it’ll pass. I think. In the meantime, I’ve got odd-looking cupcakes to eat and dinner/breakfast to make.
—
Paige Kellerman blogs about marriage, babies and gin at www.paigekellerman.com, and is the author of At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles (June 2013). You can reach her at .
She also hides out on Twitter and Facebook.
