I am at the kitchen table amid Tums, pineapples, and sundry sharpies. Also are some uncooked, anatomically correct yams that I won at the swim team white elephant a month ago. We are eating sugar cones and fresh pineapple for dinner. My daughters are bantering. We are past the point of no return.
The self-named“favorite” daughter is coloring her second composition notebook with Sharpies. The first notebook is now North Summit Brave “purple.” The second notebook is “Smurf.” Some of these contain school work, notes. Some of these contain the writing of her soul, poetry.
Her younger sister says, NO. “It’s cool colored hombre.”
I tell “favorite” that she should maybe do some homework.
“Whatever,” she says. “I just can’t concentrate on procrastination any more.” You wouldn’t know she is an honor student from this statement.
She proceeds in measuring 3.125 inches in color changing hues across the dappled cover.
My youngest “angel” (of music) is practicing flute. She is attempting to play b and b flat, while bouncing on a wooden stool.
“You could be a beat boxing flautist,” says favorite.
“You could be the next Lindsey Stirling,” I say. Just combine your drill team dance skills with your band incompetency, and natural rhythm. Then for a finale do the splits.
She attempts this thing.
“When you can do that handless, let me know,” I say.
“Shuh. Your going all dance mom on us,” says favorite.
“Look at this,” says angel. She shows us both her iPod.
“You have to watch a vine of a fat kid playing a recorder to learn your notes?” I ask laughingly.
“I know A, B, and C on the recorder!” I proudly announce.
Eye rolls from both girls and angel lashes out more the devil with a roll-up fabric tape measure from the junk drawer. Apparently we don’t own a real ruler. We have to use construction measuring tapes for homework sometimes. She confiscates the tape from her camo notebook sister. Only instead of hitting her insulting sibling, it hits me in the ear.
When I don’t know what to say, I just say Jesus these days. He does not appear in healing my ear though. I laugh it off and heal myself with additional laughter.
Angel procedes in booty shaking and twerking, first with the flute and then without it.
The splits are so much easier without the flute. I notice that angel is actually a better dancer than a flautist. She is getting dang good at this dance thang. This is the same girl that admits, “I want to do drama, but I don’t like being around people.” I wouldn’t know this tonight in my kitchen.
“You know what this means don’t you?” I say to favorite. “When she makes drill her Freshman year, we will have to start going to all those sporting events. I love sitting in the student body section,” I confess.
“No! Please,” angel screams.
“Ugh! Yeah. And I’ll have to give her rides everywhere!” adds favorite.
I hope she makes it. If not, she will likely swim with favorite and me, the absentee mom. The truth is…..when I go missing, I am often found in the pond. So in knowing this I am not really lost at all.
“I hope you’re nice to me next year, “ said favorite. “Everyone who meets you, loves you. You’re going to be way cooler than me doing drill as a freshman,” says favorite. I think this conversation upside down somehow.
I sense a plea for sisterly alliance, amid sad envious undertones. Despite selfish personal feelings, favorite supports her sister and her dream. I like this.
They debate the point of what is cooler…..being a driven Senior upperclassman, or being a carless Freshman who does drill. I think being grown up is cooler.
I am writing…of course, but interject, “What is better on WordPress… getting more visitors with fewer views, or getting fewer visitors with more views? Just wondering what you two think.”
Favorite says, “More visitors.”
Angel says, “Both.”
I say, “That’s not a choice.”
In the meantime, Angel is staging a coo in taking over my keyboard. She searches youtube for Prima J Boom, Zendaya, and Fergy and begins showing us dance routines. I think “Let me have it, girl!”
“Do you want to see my leaps?”
This means “Yes.”
She runs and leaps. That time almost knocking the french toast pan off of the range.
“Hey, can you do a whirling dervish yet?! This was a homework assignment I gave last summer.
“I want one with a side of bacon and breakfast for dinner. Please?” I add.
“What ever you do…if you do drill team, stay away from the drama,” says favorite.
This is wise advice I think, based on things I have heard in girls’ locker rooms. I am in search of more wisdom, even if it comes from a fourteen year old.
“Yeah. And if you ever get caught up in this, I WILL shut you down,” I inform. “You will have to quit dancing and become a synchronized swimmer with us.” I think swimming would be less demanding of angel and of me in several ways….financially, emotionally, socially. However, I think she should follow her dream. Dreams outweigh everything else. Too many of us abandon too easily.
Now Favorite is checking her Facebook. She spontaneously erupts in laughter.
“Oh my gosh! This person’s name is Holly Pitt, but I thought it said Holy Sh**.” Someone is requesting friendship. This language does not sound friendly though.
Ha ha ha ha. We roll in laughter, while Angel tucks and floor rolls on a filthy kitchen floor. Not sure who is having more fun now.
Before we know it, it is 9:00 p.m. and bedtime for Bonzo and me. The girls and I have succeeded in accomplishing nothing much but getting high on sharpies, and conversing. Wow! This is a new communication record. More than an hour!
Mark walks in and the girls start dancing with their dad. Tomorrow angel will job shadow at her dad’s work, a resort-like hospital. I think I can make my get away to a hot shower and bedtime with dad on the job. ha ha.
I am so excited for this teenage break through. This will carry us for days to come.
I wonder what stars or planets have aligned to bring us together and to keep us here for this long. I think that the cold front that brought inches of snow also brought this warmer magic marker moment. I am grateful to think that my early morning tearful prayers were answered with snow and girls who like to build snowmen.
Life is good with or without making progress on Power grade. I am wise in giving my power and will to my daughters in spending time with them. Wise indeed. Until I ruin everything again.