The Tyrant has become so busy with life that she doesn’t have time to fulfill basic human needs. It’s not an attractive trait.
Yesterday we were outside playing and the Diva fell off her bike and scratched her ankle. Obviously she needed to be carried inside, snuggled on the couch with a blanket, and made to feel comfortable while an ice pack was applied to her elevated foot.
When I returned to the driveway to check on the other two, the Tyrant had pulled off her pants and was trying to pee into a plastic Starbucks cup. Her urethral aim is not particularly accurate. The Pterodactyl thought this was a brilliant idea, and commended her for it. “Nice try!” he said.
I have peed in many unconventional places: the side of the road, the men’s room, on top of a wasp nest – but I can state with certainty that I have never tried to pee in a plastic cup when there was a relatively clean functioning toilet a mere 25 feet away.
She has no time to eat, either. She’ll consent to taking infrequent enormous bites of things in exchange for privileges.
Me: Take a bite.
Her: NO!
Me: If you don’t take a bite I’m taking away your lipstick.
Her: FINE!
But still, I think most of her daily caloric intake comes from the lipstick.
Often she falls into bed in exhaustion at night. Last night, for example, I couldn’t find Teddy anywhere. I was having heart palpitations thinking about getting her to sleep without Teddy. I looked in all the conventional places: the oven, the linen closet, the filing cabinet, the bathroom sink – no luck. I took a deep breath, prayed to the God of Stuffed Things, and said, “You’ll just have to sleep with Teddy Daddy tonight.” That’s what she calls our emergency substitute Teddy.
“FINE!” she said, to my surprise. Then she added, “Teddy has two daddies,” which was news to me, but we do have a very contemporary household so I was FINE with that.
I much prefer Teddy Daddy to Teddy because Teddy Daddy doesn’t smell like vomit. But this morning as I was packing the Tyrant’s backpack, I found Teddy contorted into the smallest zippered compartment. Poor Teddy Daddy – I’m sure it’s back to the toy bin for him.
I love how busy she is, cooking me pretend meals and drawing robots, which are her art specialty. When I think about it, perhaps she stays busy because she’s mirroring me. I, too, occasionally forget to take care of bodily functions. On Monday morning after boxing class, I smelled so bad I thought I might be someone else – but then I realized I hadn’t showered since Friday night. How gross is that? And lots of times I can’t figure out why I’m practically having spasms in the kitchen while trying to cook. Then I remember that I have to pee.
The other day I ran into the grocery store and was so overjoyed to see the free sample lady that I had a little flash of pleasure – yeah, that’s right, it was slightly orgasmic. But let me tell you, those three tiny bites of salmon with rice and mango salsa kept me from chewing my arm off. I was starving! I hadn’t eaten in, like, two hours!
I know that it’s important in life to stop and smell the roses. But who has time to grow a fucking rose garden? The only roses I currently have access to are the dead ones I gave to the Diva for Valentine’s Day. Damn, I need to throw those out today.
So it makes me wonder if I’m teaching my babies that it’s good to be busy, when in fact it is much more preferable to relaxed, showered and well-fed, and have an appropriately flushed urinary tract.
I’m not so concerned about smelling roses. But it would be nice to occasionally smell the confederate jasmine growing along the driveway. Or anything, frankly, that doesn’t smell like Teddy.
