Kallan is home from school for the summer, and she is ecstatic.
Which calls for a bootie-shaking song.
“My leg bone’s connected to my . . . butt bone! And my butt bone’s connected to my . . . bootie bone! And my bootie bone’s connected to my . . . summer bone!”
Maj snorts, “Your summer bone? That’s re . . .”
Kallan leaps with joy, “You were going to say it! I told you it was a funny word! You were going to say it! HA!”
Maj hesitates for just a second, and then answers triumphantly, “NO! I was going to say that it was ridiculous. You can’t have a summer bone, Kallan. That is ridiculous.”
Kallan is all sing-songy and taunting, “You were gonna say retarded! You were gonna say retarded!”
“I was not! Stop taunting me right this instant, young lady!”
Sigh.
I interrupt Kallan’s glee, “Alright, enough. That’s not a word you are allowed to use. We have already talked about this.”
Kallan protests, “I wasn’t saying that Maj is retarded. I was just saying that she was going to say the word retarded.”
“OK, Kallan? Pretend from now on that the word “retarded” is a really bad swear word. Are you allowed to sing a song about a really bad swear word, even if you think it’s funny?”
“Hmmmph. No.”
“So that’s the end of this discussion, right?”
Kallan sighs, “Fine,” and she turns to leave the room.
She doesn’t leave the room in normal fashion, however.
Instead she sticks her wiggly butt way out behind her and juts her face way forward, adjusts imaginary eyewear, and then breaststrokes out of the room, “I can get my point across without saying a word, Mom. I am a genius that way.”
Maj is puzzled, “What is wrong with that child of yours, Mother?”
I turn away to keep Maj from seeing my laughter, “I have no idea.”
But of course, I know.
A few days ago . . .
We are headed out to buy Maj some goggles for a swim party she will be attending with her 6th grade class. The goggles must be watertight and they must keep out the bright light that hurts her eyes and they must not be pink and they must not be mirrored and she needs them IMMEDIATELY because the pool party is the next day and she forgot to tell me that she lost her swim goggles the last time she went to the pool and she is very sorry but those were old goggles and she needs new cool ones and so LET’S GO why is this family so slow and annoying?
So we are headed to the sporting goods store.
Kallan looks Maj up and down, “That’s what you’re wearing? You look retarded.”
Maj responds as though she is an elementary school teacher, “Regardless of how you may feel about my appearance, that is an inappropriate word to use. The word retarded means someone with a medical condition that has somehow lowered that person’s intelligence . . . either because something happened before birth or else lead paint or something caused it later. Retarded is not an OK insult word. Right, Mother?”
I stare at Maj, “Right, babe. Couldn’t have said it any better myself.”
Kallan also stares at Maj, “OK, but now it’s even funnier because you just talked that way. Don’t you see? It’s funny because it is not true.”
Maj climbs into the car, “Choose another word or pay the price, Baby K.”
Snort!
We arrive at the sporting goods store. Maj is in one of her weird crazy-giddy moods, and she runs backwards ahead of us, yelling, “My butt will lead us to the swim goggles! Follow my butt! My butt knows the way!”
Kallan and I watch as Maj sticks her ass way out and dances backward, “My butt knows the way!”
She’s the Froot Loop bird, only with her butt instead of her nose.
So I sing, “Follow her butt! It always knows!” which does not even rhyme but makes me giggle.
Kallan looks at me, “Really?”
Maj sings and backward dances all over the store, because it turns out her butt has no fucking clue where the swim goggles might be.
Kallan looks at me pleadingly, “I can’t use that word, but then she gets to act like this? Totally unfair.”
We finally find the goggle display.
We have been given permission to unwrap the packages so that Maj can try the goggles on, and each time she pulls a new pair on, she tilts her head back and stares into the fluorescent lights above to see if the goggles keep out the light. If either Kallan or I interrupt this stare time, she lectures us about “proper eyewear purchasing techniques” and the need to keep “riff-raffy distractions to a minimum.”
Kallan looks at me pleadingly for permission to break out the R word, but I shake my head . . . No.
Maj examines and rejects about 400 pairs before settling on a pair exactly like the ones she lost.
And still she is not sure these are the correct goggles.
We pay for the goggles and she carries them out to the car, still uncertain.
As we pull on our seat-belts, Maj suddenly leaps from the car, “Hold on! One more test!”
Kallan and I watch as Maj runs to the front of the car.
We stare.
Maj extracts the goggles from their packaging and pulls them onto her head. Adjusts the eyepieces. Sticks her ass way out behind her. Stares up into the sky. Squats and leaps up into the air. Does the breaststroke through the parking lot. Does the dog-paddle. Squats and leaps into the air again. Bends over at the waist and then flips her head up. Freezes. Stares into the sky. Runs in place for a few steps. Does a few jumping jacks.
And then finally stands like a superhero, hands on hips as she surveys the parking lot.
Kallan leans forward in the car, “Seriously, Mom? Look at her! LOOK AT HER! Telling me I can’t call her retarded. LOOK AT HER!”
Maj climbs happily back into the car, “These are perfect!”
Kallan throws herself back in her seat, “Maj you are re . . . something. I can’t think of the word, but you are re . . . something.”
Maj snaps her seatbelt, “I believe the word you are looking for is resplendent, Baby K. I am re . . . splendent.”
“Yes,” Maj pulls her goggles back on for the ride home, “I am regoggled and resplendent.”
Kallan giggles, “Does resplendent mean insane?”
Snort!
