Crazy Love

Driving in the car.

We are about 15 minutes into what will likely be a 30 minute trip.

Maj is hungry and because she is Maj?  She will not shut up about it.

I have a box of dog treats I carry in the car for just this sort of occasion, and I offer her one.

“Mother, that is disgusting.  Why do you even offer?  I am not eating a dog biscuit.”

Kallan interrupts, “I ate a few.  They’re not that bad.”

The dog treats are in the car because we went through a period of time in which Kallan couldn’t get into the car without dying of whiny starvation.  The whining was killing me, and I got so fucking sick of discussing Kallan’s hunger?  I bought a box of dog treats.

And told her that the dog treats were in case of emergency, to hold her over until the paramedics arrived with IVs and shit.

Kallan has stopped complaining about being hungry in the car.  But first?  Kallan ate one or two dog biscuits, because she is that sort of girl.

Maj is not that kind of girl, and she announces loudly into the car, “You cannot starve a child under the age of 18.”

I look over at Mark incredulously, but then I rally, “Oh, but you can, Maj.  Children under the age of 18?  If you don’t feed them?  They die.  There’s no magic to being a kid, Maj.  You could starve.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it.  I am your child and I am hungry and you are supposed to keep me from starving.”

She sounds like a testy little social worker.

“Are you threatening to call the authorities, Maj?  Be sure to mention the cereal and fruit and yogurt you had for breakfast.  And the love, Maj.  Be sure to mention the love.”

Maj annoys me sometimes.

And so I wave the dog biscuit again, “Are you sure you don’t want this?  Just to tide you over until your father and I manage to eke out your next meal?”

She goes glowery and silent.

Fine by me.

Kallan is not silent.  Kallan is never silent.

She sings.  She talks.  She hums.  She discusses in great detail the fact that her fingernail polish is chipping off.  She complains about the radio station we have selected, and then sings along with our songs in great mocking fashion.  She hopes to annoy us enough that we will change the station, but Mark and I just crank up the volume.

And the three of us sing along badly as Maj sulks.

Maj’s real family?  They are out there somewhere being all reasonable about life.  And they have snacks.  Maj is pretty sure.

Anyway.

Fast-forward through the next several hours.  And yes, we fed Maj lunch.  And now we are back in the car, headed home.

For whatever reason?  Kallan is going insane with evil button-pushing glee, and in short order?  She manages to piss off everyone else in the car.

So I start giving her 5 minutes for every new offense.  She hauls ass all the way to 35 minutes before she stops to consider . . .

“Thirty-five minutes of what, Mom?”

“Thirty-five minutes in your room.”

“Oh, man!  I don’t want to go to my room for 35 minutes.”

“You should have thought of that just a few short minutes ago.”

She thumps herself back into her seat, kicks her feet . . . thinks.

“Is there any way I could get this number lowered?”

I am about to say no, but Mark interrupts, “If you are willing to do the time-out in the unfinished portion of the basement?  We’ll take it down to fifteen.”

Kallan is nervous about the small unfinished room in the basement.

I am all shocked at Mark’s sassiness, and Kallan is momentarily stunned.

But only for a moment.

She is in a bargaining mood and her voice is all thoughtful, “What would I have to do to get even less than 15 minutes?”

And before I can stop them?

These words come out of my mouth, “Bound and gagged in the basement room?  I’ll take it down to five.”

And now Mark looks at me, because I?

Have gone insane.

But Kallan doesn’t even pause for a moment, and she responds with all the confidence of a veteran deal-broker in her best This is My Final Offer voice. . .

“Here’s what I’ll do.  In the basement room, ten minutes, loosely tied, no gag.”

And then Mark and Kallan and I?  We laugh until we cry.

Oh my god.

We pull into the driveway.

Kallan heads upstairs to do her 35 minutes in her room.

And Maj lectures me angrily about how, “Not everything in this life is funny, Mother.”

And I giggle.

Somewhere?

Maj’s real family?  They are out there being all reasonable about life.

We are not Maj’s real family.

She is pretty sure.

Plus also?

Mark says it’s a good thing I am writing this shit down.

So that I will have a record for the authorities.

That Maj may at some point be calling.

Let me make a note here of the fact that Maj has not starved today.

For lack of food or love.

There is much love.

Crazy love.

Snort!