Saturday, May 26, 2007
Not Even the Remote-est Clue
My mother worries about the stories I tell to the kids. I call it creativity, she calls it a bit out there.
Take my "third eye" as a case in point. Ever since Stink really came into his rowdy namesake, I've kept him amazingly in line by telling him that I can see everything he does through my third eye.
This used to involve me looking into a rear view mirror and describing him throwing his goldfish crackers on the floor. As he got older and started getting wise to my tricks, I'd simply squint, or wear sunglasses, and remark on the apple juice he was dripping into the turtle tank. Now I rely mostly on sounds, occasional screams, and the ever ominous spells of silence.
While I drew the line at taking a rubber ball out of my back pony tail and giving it to him for his share day, I haven't been ready to confess the truth about my optical power. I'm thinking if Santa can fly and the Easter bunny can hop, why can't Mama P keep her kids safe with the power of mind control? It works for cults. And hypnotists. And John Edward.
Life was going along very smoothely with my baby blanket of lies, until today...
When we couldn't find the remote...
And the idea of facing a day without the nanny...er... television... was enough to induce hives. Or at least a good case of Diet Coke withdrawl shakes.
Since Stink was the last one in the tv room, I asked him where he thought it might be. His response? "I don't know, Mommy. Why don't you have your magic eye find it?"
With all due respect to my 76 year old mother, SHUT UP, MOM. Just SHUT. UP.
Lucky for me, I'm quick on my feet. I told him that his grandmother has a magic eye, too, and it flew in last night to surprise my magic eye with a trip to Disneyland. They only had two days to use the senior discount, so time was of essence. (I might not have seen Spiderman III yet, but I can still spin a pretty good web.)