There is going to be spillage.
A huge fucking mess.
And even though I know this? I take no steps to avoid the future catastrophe.
Something about the danger of that moment just before the chaos and insanity?
Appeals to me.
That thrill.
In the background as I sip my coffee and contemplate the spillage and the chaos and the thrill of danger?
My daughters are fighting. Chaos of a different kind.
They cartoon fight-ball into the room, rolling and spitting, all pinches and hair pulls and clawed fingertips.
“She started it!”
“Well, she called me a baby!”
“And then she hit me!”
“She pinched me first!”
“I did nothing, and then she just attacked me!”
“Attacked? She flew through the air like a tiger! Plus? She needs her fingernails cut, Mother.”
They both press close to show me their mortal wounds and voice their complaints.
Another better mother? Might be able to get to the bottom of this situation, but I? Just want them gone.
“Ladies? There has just been too much fighting lately! What is wrong with the two of you?”
They stare back at me, united in their defiance.
Maj speaks for the two of them, “This is how sisters are, Mother. If you didn’t want this? You should have thought before you decided to have Kallan.”
Kallan agrees, “Yeah, Mom. You should have thought. This is how we are.”
“AUGH! This is not the way sisters are! Or at least, this is not the way you are supposed to be. Why can’t you keep your hands to yourselves?”
They both look at me like I am an idiot.
Maj speaks, “Because she is really annoying, Mother.”
And from Kallan, “Yeah, she is really annoying, Mom. And so at some point? Our hands are going to be involved.”
Maj nods, “Yup.”
“So despite the fact that we have discussed how you may not touch one another in anger about 8 billion times . . . you are both telling me that you are using your hands because your sister pissed you off?”
They both giggle at the words “pissed off,” exchange glances, and then look back at me.
The word DUH is written all over their sister faces.
“Fine. Both of you go to your rooms for a half hour. Take a break from one another.”
Maj is all reasonable, “Our rooms are right across the hallway from one another. This is not taking a break. This is just sending us away from you.”
“Well, if that is all that can be accomplished? I will settle for that. Go. Away from me.”
They turn to leave, but then Kallan pauses, “You know she’s going to keep yelling at me, Mom. What am I supposed to do?”
“Ignore her.”
She thinks for a minute, “So after this time in our rooms, if she pinches me because she is angry, what am I supposed to do?”
“Walk away.”
“And if she hits me?”
“Walk away.”
“And if she bites me?”
“Walk away.”
“And if she bashes me with a big rock?”
“Lie quietly, as I do not wish to be disturbed.”
“And if she kills me?”
“Lie quietly for a longer period of time.”
She snorts, “You’re funny, Mom.”
“Thank you.”
From upstairs, Maj is screaming, “Do you see what happens? I go up to my room like you told me to, and she is down there doing comedy! She is supposed to be in her room!”
Kallan giggles and runs up to her room.
And there is quiet for a moment.
So I pour myself a second cup of coffee.
Walk over to the refrigerator for the creamer. We have the largest container of creamer imaginable because we shop at Costco. The container is fairly new, and it is heavy. I hold it tightly in my right hand as I unscrew the top absent-mindedly with my left.
And then?
As the top loosens and the pressure of my grip continues?
There is a sickening momentary lurch.
This container? Is flawed. Weakened in some way so that it folds in upon itself as the top is removed.
Luckily, I am able to slip my right hand lower and steady the container with my left.
But it occurs to me?
That at some point there will be spillage.
A huge fucking mess.
And even though I know this? I take no steps to avoid the future catastrophe.
Something about the danger of that moment just before the chaos and insanity?
Appeals to me.
That thrill.
PLUS ALSO?
Guess what?
Since yesterday, Esquire has put up the photo of Violante Placido!
Swoon.
Violante Placido
Plus also?
Spillage.
I had something brilliant and insightful to say.
Then I was distracted by a hottie.
Also, that photo is kind of sexy, too.
In my mind and for the purposes of all future fantasies?
I look exactly like Violante Placido.
We are like twins.
Except I have no accent.
That’s how you’ll be able to tell us apart.
I’m going to assume that your snark quotient is much higher as well.
This edges you ahead in the hot department.
I am all kinds of snarky.
I have heard it said.
I have seen it in action.
Chills.
I will endeavor to reign in the awesomeness a bit, then.
I don’t want you all shivery.
Oh, wait.
Yes, I was in no way asking you to stop.
I mean, I may be an idiot, but indeed I am no fool.
Whew.
Because I am not so much about the reigning it in.
You may have noticed.
As far as I can tell, you consistently dance right on the edge of the cliff, while the sea crashes below and the wind just almost lifts you up and pulls you right over the side.
But I could be just guessing here.
Hmmmm . . .
What’s your point?
My sister and I are 6 years apart, so there wasn’t much fighting between us. She did her thing, I did mine. But also? There was very little bonding until we both got older.
My daughters are bonded.
In their mutual agreement that their mother?
Is way lame.
And THAT is why i want another kid ASAP. C needs someone who will understand what a terribe TERRIBLE thing it is to have me as a mom.
Your daughters are lucky.
To have each other.
It is way funny to see them united in their disdain and judgment of me.
Way funny.
Totally worth the bother of the fighting.
Totally.
I am so telling my husband this exact quote so that I can perhaps persuade him to move up the baby making a year.
Let me know how that discussion goes.
Hee hee!
Spillage…that makes me think of the women who wear bras too tight with shirts that are even tighter and then they have “spillage” over their bras that shows in their back in the form of rolls….
OK, that?
Is a less attractive kind of spillage.
But the mind will go where the mind will go.
And so you wander off.
I will be here with Violante.
Yeah, my mind wandered off to the people of walmart…and while Violante is hot, those people…you know that ones that you always encounter at walmart…those people are hilarious.
Get out of WalMart!
What is wrong with you?
Yikes!
Oh, HELLO Violante Placido! I love you with the passion of a thousand burning suns. There could be spillage.
My philosophy about kids and fighting? If you’re in it, you get it. Unless there is a very obvious victim, I send everyone to their separate corners for awhile. This works very well for me. Them? Not so much, but then again, they are the ones acting like gerbils on acid.
I knew you would like her.
I am happy to share.
As for the fighting?
Yes. If there is a victim and an aggressor? I will address that.
But two gerbils on acid?
Then off to their separate gerbil wheels they both go.
Snort.
oh my effing lord she is HOT! and oh yeah, great post. but HOT! *fans self dramatically*
I know.
I know!
Oh wow! It might really be the anticipation/the thrill of spillage that causes me to allow my boys to pummel one another until there is true crying. And all along, I thought I was just letting them “work it out”, while my dear hubby believes that I’m just being “lazy”.
Nope.
This right here?
Parenting of the highest order!
High-fives!
Diet Coke just came out of my nose…… I’m not sure it was from laughing or scrolling down to the picture.
Yikes!!
Whether due to laughter or lust?
Diet Coke through the nose is never a bad thing.
You’re welcome.
I don’t know, Kris. Diet coke kinda burns.
I know!
YAY!
HAAAAAAAHAHAHA That is sooooo funny!
They do have a point ya know. All kids fight. Even the ones that like each other. So it’s best to just invest in some of those blow up sumo suits. Make sure you get pics of that :)
You are not the first person to mention the Sumo blow-up suits!
I may have to look into that!
Because that image?
Of my daughters all inflated and fighting?
Makes me giggle.
Have you Googled her yet?? There is a photo of her in Styrofoam pellets that is “nice” too.
Spillage happens. An nothing wrong with your parenting!! It just hurts my nose.
Of course I Googled her!
Are you kidding me?
Of course I did.
This photo, though? My favorite.
By far.
Sorry about your nose!
Snort!
Yes, the pellet picture! Did you see it, Kris? Did you see?
You will LIKEE.
Handle with care.
OK, now I have to go find the pellet picture.
Hold on.
Oh my.
That is a good one.
A good one?
Excuse me. I have to go… umm… write some haiku!
Yeah, that’s it.
Haiku.
Hee hee!
5-7-5
Make sure you have the right rhythm.
My rhythm?
Impeccable.
Sibling rivalry is such a beautiful thing. It saddens me daily that Noah is a single child and will possibly never experience the thrill of making a sibling’s life awful.
It is dreadful but also awesome.
This sibling thing.
I had never thought of this plight of the single dad.
Women, sometimes, we really have it easy.
I used to beat the hell out of my brother…until he got bigger than me and started fighting back.
I have a great mental image of your kids rolling into the room with exclamation points flying off them.
That’s exactly the image I was going for!
And yes, I used to fight with my siblings as well.
Sigh.
fighting? as long as there is no blood? don’t bother me. Violante? makes me a little damp.
You and I?
We are like sisters.
Inappropriate sisters.
But sisters.
I love you!
I vote for pellets…..(imagining being one of those pellets) hmmmmm
kids fighting, argh! I totally agree on separation and time out for ALL involved. Saves me from having to investigate.
that way I can sit in silence and drink diet coke, and imagine the pellets—-
The pellet picture?
Is growing on me.
Girls?
Off to your rooms!
Mom needs a minute.
And a Coke.
what are you trying to tell us!
why are you distracting us with the sister fighting story!
and the sexy model!
what is going on!
ACK!
You?
Are seeing things that are not there.
I just enjoy letting the girls take it almost to the point of no return.
And then sending them away so I can look at cute ladies.
And then I spill creamer.
Snort!
jesus, you are SUCH a flirt with all your I Creep Up To The Precipice And Will Not Stop Myself. Precipice of WHAT! ACK!
It’s like poetry.
What with the empty spaces.
That you fill in with your own stuff.
Snort.
EXACTLY!
Jesus, you’re all such perverts.
Perverts!
Duh.