Maj and Kallan and I walk through the puddled parking lot to the car. Kallan leaps ahead to demonstrate her latest cheerleading moves as she stomps through the puddles, because if there is a cheerier thing than splashing muddy water high into the air as one jumps and screams for team victory, Kallan simply cannot imagine what that might be. Maj and I hang back because we are not cheerful people, and adding mud and water to us does little to improve our moods.
Maj holds out her finger for my inspection, “My finger hurts.”
I glance at her finger, “Is that where you picked at it?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, I’m going to put my sympathy level at about zero.”
“Way to mother me, Mother.” We walk a few more steps, and she has another complaint, “My lip hurts where my braces bump against it. I think there’s a little cut.” She pulls out her lower lip for me to see.
I don’t stop walking, “Have you been using the wax the orthodontist gave you?”
“No.”
“So then again . . . my sympathy level is hovering at about zero.”
Maj presses her fingers to her temples and winces, “I have a headache.”
“Take some Tylenol.”
“I don’t want to take medicine.”
“Thus ends my caring on this issue as well.”
Kallan rejoins us, red-cheeked and cheerful, “You guys are slow.”
I reach to rumple Kallan’s hair, “Maj was just informing me that she has concerns.”
Kallan giggles, “Maj always has concerns.”
Maj ignores her sister and turns again to me as she swings her right arm over her head, “My arm hurts when I swing it big.”
“Don’t swing it big.”
She reaches to rake her fingers along her lower pant-leg, “I have a dry patch of skin on my leg that itches.”
“Lotion.”
“Lotion doesn’t help.”
“Well, then . . . I imagine there will come a time when your entire leg simply flakes away into a pile of dry skin shreddings. Bummer for you.”
“Mother . . . I am not sure your behavior merits the continued use of the Mother title.”
“Fine by me. Call me Taxi.”
Kallan shrieks with laughter, “Yes, Maj! Every time you have a problem, call for Taxi!”
Maj stops to glare at both of us, but then she has to shield her eyes against sudden sunlight, “My eyes are all teary. You know my eyes are sensitive to the sunlight. Where are my sunglasses?”
“Where did you leave them?”
“In the car.”
“Mystery solved!”
Maj squints and sighs, “My headache is worse when I squint.”
“Oh my god . . . Maj, there is going to come a time when you start dating. I just want to give you a heads-up as your mother who loves you . . . you are seriously lacking in small-talk skills.”
Kallan hugs her body in delight, “Can you imagine?” She holds her finger out to an imagined boyfriend and speaks as her sister, “Look. I peeled the skin away beneath my fingernail and it hurts and so what I want to know is . . . What are you going to do about it?”
Maj interrupts, “None of this will be an issue, because I do not plan to date.”
“Skipping right to marriage, are you?” I reach to pull her into a hug, “Good luck with that.”
Kallan speaks again as her sister, this time with great authority, “You there. Yes, you. Let me get a look at you . . . yes, you’ll do. What’s your name? Bob? No. That is unacceptable. From now on you are Matthew. Don’t sass me, Matthew. You got plans for your life, Matthew? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Listen carefully, Matthew . . . your course has been altered . . . take my hand, Matthew. I SAID TAKE MY HAND. Let’s do this. We’ll need a ring, Matthew. Can I trust you to handle that one simple task? ARE YOU CRYING? Good lord, Matthew . . . this does not bode well for our future together.”
Maj snorts with laughter, “Yes. Exactly like that.”
Kallan opens the door to the minivan and climbs in, “I hope Matthew has a good last name, or you’ll have to change that as well.”
Maj climbs in after her sister, “I’m not changing my name. Matthew can take my name.”
I slide the door closed as Maj reaches for her sunglasses and explains to her sister, “No way Matthew doesn’t want to be a part of the Wehrmeister magic.”
Hee hee.
Oh.
Look.
Oh that poor, poor future boy!
Yes.
Matthew is doomed.
Cute, though.
I imagine.
Hee hee.
“No way Matthew doesn’t want to be a part of the Wehrmeister magic.”
LMAO what sane person WOULDN’T want to be part of the Wehrmeister Magic?!
Sane people have boundaries that would prevent them from joining in on the fun.
But INSANE people?
Oh, they want in.
Badly.
Just don’t let anyone warn him. That’s how I got trapped in the McKinley magic. No one warned me….
HELP!
Trust me, no one here gives advance warning of anything.
And the McKinley magic suits you.
It so does.
Yes, let him take the Wehrmeister name! Love it! hee hee
Seriously, I took on the Wehrmeister name and look how I turned out.
Wait.
Hmmm.
I seriously appreciate the lack of sympathy!
Right? I am happy to offer sympathy, but if the problem is minor and self-inflicted? Or if you refuse to take steps to address the problem? Or if the problem isn’t actually a problem at all?
Then I cannot be bothered.
At all.
Just wondering if the Maj had any Chinese blood? Not that there is anything wrong with that.
Hee hee.
Poor you.
Rain doesn’t bother me so bad. Mud, on the other hand, will ruin my day every damn time.
Also?
Matthew is doomed.
But should be happy to be a part of the magic.
Hee hee!
Kallan is a cheerleader now (which just boggles my mind).
I am a “cheer-mom” and have been referred to as such.
Never mind Matthew.
I’m the one who is doomed.
Oh no!
You’re one of *those* moms!
You are very much doomed.
Heh.
Sigh.
Hush up.
Cheer-mom. That is Wehrmeister magic right there. It’s all happening! You guys make me laugh and smile.
It’s all happening?
Yes.
That.
Exactly so.
Of COURSE he should take the Wehrmeister name.
Naturally.
Is there really any other option?
*snortle!*
Maj’s future husband is going to have to be either very weak or very strong indeed.
I do hope I get to be around to see how this all plays out.
Hee hee.
I can only hope you’re still writing it all down for all of us to enjoy too!!
M
I will do my very best.
Someone out there is going to have the BEST mother-in-law!
Ahem.
Once upon a Time, there wandered a girl-no-a woman? Yes, a woman who felt mostly like a girl except on days when she didn’t…
This Girlwoman ventured out into an invisible world Unknown, leaving all of her comforts….pens that bled a glorious black, pages bound by glue or spirals…behind.
Each day that passed, she yearned to inhale the musty perfume of smooth paper and craved the sweet metallic remnants of ink markings on the outside edge of her left hand. She questioned her reflection with silent eyes.
Then?
Came you. And your olive branch.
And I thank you and I am so happy to hear of this book, and giddy over this open space here! I am a Non Facebooking chic(gasp!) and so, for me, it is fabulous to write words down right here, under your post!!
*last scary fairytale comment ever. I promise.
Kim -
Awwww, you.
Your comment isn’t scary at all.
I am a loner by nature, and when I took this time for myself to be quiet and think and write, that felt right.
I had forgotten how nice it is to wake to someone’s words for me.
Thank you.
I look forward to being less by myself.
Kris
I almost drowned in the tub when I pulled up the blog and saw the little red new comment numbers. And then I read luxuriously both the posts and the comments. And then I swooned at the coincidence that I was taking a BATH while reading your magical Wehrmeister words. Welcome back. I’ve missed you. I’ve loved your lone words, but your interactive words have been missed. And now I’m one the same time zone and my life is even more perfect than it already was. Swoon again.
Hee hee.
I have been here, but I know what you mean.
It would be difficult to overstate my joy that you kept reading even when I wasn’t here to talk about what I had written.
Sigh.
Big joy.
Thank you, Lindsay.
So happy to see comments back! I always feel this vague sense of “now what?” after reading your posts, if I can’t immediately zip to the bottom and tell you how much I loved them. Not to mention that hilarious conversations go on there. I’ve missed those.
But I’ve been reading your blog religiously anyway!
The blogging world is a strange world. I read newspapers and magazines and poetry and books endlessly . . . and I never feel even the smallest bit of concern that the writer of the words I am reading does not make him or herself available for conversation.
Not that I do not enjoy the conversation.
But it’s strange.
And Sheila? I am so glad you read even when I wasn’t here to discuss.
Thank you for that.