This morning I shuffled downstairs where the kids were already running around like Chihuahuas on crack. This is one of the best parts of having two kids– They wake up and play together/beat each other up. Pre-Maya, Taylor would come into my room at ungodly hours and hover over my face until his stank morning breath drove me out of bed. Now that he has someone else to bother, I can lay in my warm bed until I hear screaming. But I digress.
I went through the morning motions; Start the coffee, watch the coffee drip, mentally curse the coffeemaker for working too slow. I opened my mouth to ask the kids “Pop-Tarts or cereal?” and… nothing came out. Oh, fuck. My voice was gone, and with it, all my power over mischievous little children.
I saw this realization hit Taylor; I watched his eyes narrow to slits as a devilish grin spread across his face. He saw opportunities to be a troublemaker and seized them. Cancel the DNA test; he’s obviously mine. Taylor then runs to the fridge and grabs pudding snack packs for him & Maya.
Taylor, sweetly, refusing to make eye contact with me: “We can have pudding for breakfast, right Mom?”
Me: Shakes head.
Taylor: “Well, I guess it’s okay, since you’re not saying ‘no’.”
Me: Nostril flare.
Taylor: “Awesome! Thanks Mom!”
Me: Laser stare of doom.
Maya is just watching us, her big blue eyes darting back and forth between Taylor and me. She looks like someone who is watching a standoff between a bank robber and the police– the loot, in this scenario, a chocolate pudding pack. WHO WILL SHOOT FIRST?
My little Dillinger finally looked right at me, giggling, and put the pudding packs in my hands. I’m still giving him my most potent disciplinary look (while I try to keep a straight face).
“Just kidding, Mom. I know that look and I know you call it the ‘Fearagod look’ for a reason.”
Such wisdom deserves rewards; I set the chocolate pudding packs back down in front of him and Maya.