Sometimes in scientific research, an opportunity presents itself that cannot be ignored.
Maj and Kallan are sleeping.
I am fixing our bed, and Mark walks past me and into the bathroom to shave. He uses an electric razor that has a loud insistent buzz to it. I know, I know . . . you do not give a shit . . . but this fact is important, so put your fucking hand down.
I will not be taking questions until the end of class.
Anyway, I plump the pillows and I listen to Mark’s razor.
Huh.
I walk from the room and down the hall to stand outside the girls’ bedrooms.
Yes, I can hear the noise of the razor.
I walk back down the hallway and then down the stairs.
Yes, from the foot of the stairs, I can still make out the sound of the razor.
I walk into the kitchen.
I hear nothing.
I walk back to the stairs.
Yup. He is still shaving.
OK.
I walk up the stairs and into our bedroom . . . through the room and to the bathroom, “Hey, Mark? I am just going to shut this bathroom door, if that’s alright with you.”
He nods.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
I walk to the threshold of our bedroom.
Buzzzzzzzz.
I walk to the girls’ bedrooms.
Buzzzzzzz.
Hmmmm.
I walk back and close the master bedroom door as well, moving quickly now because Mark will be finished any second.
I walk to the girls’ bedrooms.
Buzzzzzz.
Smaller, but still . . . buzzzzzz.
OK, then.
I race to the bottom of the stairs like a lunatic and listen carefully . . . nothing.
I walk quietly back up the stairs.
I can hear a tiny bit of buzz at the 5th stair.
And then it stops.
Mark is all clean-shaven.
“Mother!”
I am startled out of my scientific reverie both by Maj’s voice and by the fact that Maj somehow woke up and then walked downstairs and past me without detection.
She is stealthy, that child.
“MOTHER!”
I walk downstairs and into the kitchen, “What’s up, Maj?”
“Can you get the cereal down for me?”
“I thought you didn’t like Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”
“Yes, but thanks to Daddy, we have a million gallons of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and no other cereal.”
This is true. Mark bought an enormous double-bag box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch from Costco. A good deal, I am sure, but a pain in the ass because the girls always tire of the cereal before they have finished it.
Plus, the stupid bags aren’t resealable, so once a bag is opened, I have to pour the cereal into a large Ziploc bag.
You know those women who have those cute perfect plastic containers with the easy open flip-tops into which they pour their cereal to maintain perfect freshness and storage adorability?
Yeah, I hate those women.
Anyway, so I stand on tiptoe and wonder who the fuck put the giant Ziploc bag of Cinnamon Toast Crunch so high up in the cupboard.
Annoying.
I pull down the bag, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal rains down upon me in massive quantities.
Because the bag is not sealed.
Sigh.
The only part of me that is not covered in cinnamon sugar goodness is my head.
I reach into my shirt and retrieve the few golden squares that are wedged into my bra.
The cinnamon sugar clings.
It is everywhere.
I ward off the dogs and yell instructions to Maj (who is giggling too much to be of any use) and Kallan (who has just woken and is also laughing hysterically).
It is too early in the morning for this bullshit.
So I grab the vacuum and try to suck up the cereal squares with the vacuum wand.
Perhaps fifteen cereal squares immediately leap up into the vacuum and jam the hose.
Don’t tell me this vacuum never loses suction, Dyson motherfuckers.
The floor is still covered with cereal.
Sweeping is required.
Like I live on Little House on the Prairie or some shit . . . with a broom.
Sweeping.
Fuck.
I let the dogs lick up the sugary cinnamon remnants, and then I search the utensil drawer for the appropriate tool with which to clear the cereal logjam in the vacuum tubing.
Mark walks into the room and stares at me as I shove the length of our expensive steel knife sharpener down into the workings of the vacuum with repeated hostile thrusts.
He wisely says nothing.
I finish the job and explain, “I am covered with cinnamon sugar, and I am not in the mood to hear judgment from you. So just hush.”
He sips his coffee, “Well, I imagine you taste delicious.”
Wait . . . what?
I glance at Mark, because if there is anything that could turn this moment around, it would be . . .
He sips his coffee again and turns and leaves the room.
Hmmph.
I finish the clean-up in the kitchen, put the vacuum away, and head upstairs to change my clothes.
I am not inclined to take a shower, so I just rinse off in the sink, wiping at the sticky sweetness with a washcloth.
Huh.
I review my research.
One door closed.
Two doors closed.
The rest of the family safely downstairs.
Hmmm.
“Mother?”
“MOTHER?”
How did Maj get up here without me noticing?
God damn it, that child is stealthy.
She stands outside the bedroom door, “What are you doing, Mother? Is that your toothbrush I hear? Didn’t you already brush your teeth?”
Hmmm.
“You can never have enough dental hygiene, Maj.”
“Why is this door locked?”
“Because I am naked and covered in cinnamon, Maj.”
“TMI, Mother! What is wrong with you? TMI!”
“Go away, Maj.”
“With pleasure, Mother.”
Where was I?
Yes.
Research.
Questions?
