Okay. a LOT scary. Because all I can do is sit back and think "Oh my word! Please tell me I'm not like that!"
Surely they speak of their ...uh, other mom?
...
As I was sitting at the table going looking through some books, I heard Selah shout with feverish indignation, "No. I'm not a kid! I'm 30 years old!! Okay, Charis?! I'm Thirty! THIRTY! THIRTY!!!" I hear her stomp her feet in protest to drive the point home.
Apparently that debate was won by the older sister. Because a few minutes later, Selah was obediently being the child taking a nap in the room where I was sitting.
Watching the girls play as discreetly as I can, Selah gets up and goes to the window to watch a passing neighbor. Then whispering to Charis, Selah instructs her on how to react to this blatant act of disobedience. So Charis, the mother, stomps up to Selah and demands with hands on her hips: "No Kid! Go back to bed and don't get out of bed until I say you can. Do. you. understand?"
Selah's shoulders sag in pretend defeat. But she doesn't question as she walks back to the "bed" because clearly this is how life goes when trying to negotiate with Meanie Mom.
A few minutes later, Charis comes into the 'napping room' with her shirt up, "nursing" a doll.
"Kid." she says softly. "Wake up. I have a surprise for you. I had another baby."
Selah goes on to examine the newest sibling, from the Prison-Bed, like it was an everyday occurrence for her mom to pop out another child.
And the playtime abruptly ends.
Huh. Heartwarming, isn't it?
Please refrain from calling social services. I can assure you this is not reality...at least as I know it. :) Though I'm quite sure some child psychologists, after observing this play, would say that my role as their mother can efficiently be boiled down to the following:
I throw a tantrum over my age, so never ever ever refer to me as a child. Or question me, period. You will be set straight. Rather loudly.
I lovingly refer to each of my daughters as "Kid." What can I say? I don't mess with the formality of first names. It's easier that way.
I restrict them to their beds for ungodly amounts of time, only letting them step foot on the floor when Master (IE. that's me) says so. And I never say so. Curiousity of the outside world is neither encouraged nor permitted. Unless, of course, it can be observed from their Permanent Post on the bed.
And whenever they wake up, I have successfully had yet another child. I am pregnant and pop them on out a regular basis. It's just what I do: breed.
So there you have it. Daddy is the Cool one. I am the Tyrant, yet Fertile one. Any questions? ;)
