Monday, January 14, 2008
The Bad Seed
Sunday had the possibility of being a horrible day. We had three (yes, three) children three and under here. That in itself is enough to make any woman over forty scream with terror and run for a martini, sports car, and a six figure salary. Not me, nope. I’m a trooper, I am super woman. I am you, only with a worse wardrobe. I may be shorter, grayer, more prone to facial ticks than you are, but I do bake a mean cookie.
It all began quite calmly that mid-morning Sunday. I’d finished washing the dishes while the little ones played (read: fight) at my feet. It’s easier to watch them if you’re practically stepping on them at every turn. I swabbed down the counter and gathered up the dirty towels and wash clothes and made my way to the laundry room (mere feet from the kitchen). I tossed the towels and gathered a fresh supply, flipped off the light and retraced my steps back to the kitchen.
The Destroyer was quickly (read: racing) her way to the sofa, while The Monster was announcing to all, “The Destroyer has …” (Forgive me for not enlightening you further, but we do have identities to protect.) I quickly (read: raced as if my very life depended on it) traversed the few feet between myself and The Destroyer, lifted her carefully and found the object she’s stolen from a drawer.
I grasped the offending object in one had, while holding the vicious offender in the other. I looked at The Monster, my jaw slack, mind racing. “Thank you! Thank you for tattling!” I exclaimed. Which of course set a new precedent for The Monster to inform us of any and all news, significant or not.
Have you ever had one of those moments that define your life? A turning point? Boys and girls, I experienced one such moment that afternoon. I decided, right then and there, standing in my living room, grasping the squalling Destroyer, “I do not want to parent small children”.
It’s really very simple isn’t it? Small children who have not been born of my body and are the official wards of the state, have no business being raised by me. My hair is turning grayer by the moment, my blood pressure must be dangerously high, and I haven’t had a proper nights sleep since May. What was I thinking?
Of course, it’s been stated, rather vehemently I may add, that I “volunteered for this”. Which is true. In my defense, I had not idea that these two little, blonde, blue-eyed girls brought a demon with them. How could I have known that they are the living embodiment of “The Bad Seed” (movie released September 1956)? I was clueless to the fact that they would not only stamp my intellect into the dirt, but that they would also rip my heart from my chest and EAT IT, laughing gleefully, I might add.
We survived this latest emergency and thankfully there was no trip to the ER. I made a quick survey of anything that could be within The Destroyer’s reach and rearranged everything. The phone call was made to appraise the case worker and on Wednesday I’ll get to tell the Bio-Mom, who will sneer and attempt to make me out to be a danger to her children and an idiot.
I may very well be an idiot. After all I signed up for this special form of abuse.
Last night, as I lay in bed, thinking over the day’s events, I couldn’t help considering all the other possible outcomes. Thank God none of them happened. Believe what you will, but I believe in Guardian angels. Mine must have amazing speed, strength and smarts, because he sure saved my bacon yesterday!