I’m a 24-hour Mommy today.
First order of business: buy provisions. The plan was that I would sleep at Mo’s house so that Abby could sleep in her own bed, but Mo traditionally has a very Spartan refrigerator. Auntie Weety was going to fix that in short order.
Abby and I went to the grocery store, where we procured pepperoni pizza, extra cheese for the pizza (so that Abby could ‘make’ the pizza), some kid yogurt, and some string cheese for snacking. And some cookies. Then Abby requested some cherry Pop Tarts. But of course! Because Auntie Weety is the BEST AUNTIE IN THE ENTIRE WORLD and anything goes. As God as my witness, not one natural or healthy thing would find its way inside that child’s body while I was at the wheel!
Then she spied the chocolate milk display. ‘CHOCOLATE MILK!’ she exclaimed, running forward, arms outstretched.
‘Now Abigail,’ I said, in my best librarian tone of voice. ‘Does your mom let you drink chocolate milk?’
She stopped and looked up at me with her adorable little face.
‘No.’ She said, slumping back into reality.
This is when the Evil Auntie Weety stepped forward. You see, Auntie Weety is also her godmother, but it’s simply not enough.
‘Who is your favorite auntie?’
She looked confused for a minute, wondering what on earth this question had to do with chocolate milk, but then slowly, you could actually see her doing the math inside her little four-year-old brain and then understanding lit upon her sweet little face. She smiled, and said as though trying for the first time a mysterious key inside a long closed door.
‘Auntie Weety!’
‘But of course you can have chocolate milk!!!’ I exclaimed. People in the grocery store turned and looked but I didn’t care. Chocolate milk! We’re going to have chocolate milk! Chocolate milk you want and chocolate milk you shall have!
So after a brief stop at my house to fetch my clothes and my Schoolhouse Rock DVD, we embarked to Mo’s house. It was the first time in days that Abby had been there, as she’s been shuttled between several grandmothers’ houses since Mo’s business trip, so she immediately ditched me and went out to play with her squadron of little girls.
I got to be Pseudo-mom and fix the knot of the neighbor girl’s shoe and tell the girls to hold on with both hands if they were going to climb on the activity thing in the backyard, and also got to be the Tattle Receptacle when Abby was involved in an altercation with another girl (the girl who defaults to leader when Abby is not around. She is a worldly six years old and I suspect the Macbeth to Abby’s Duncan.). And I got to stand at the screen door and call ‘Abbyyyyyyyy! Dinnerrrrrrrrrrr!’
Together we put extra cheese on the pizza. Abby asked for a bowl of the shredded cheese that was left over and wolfed down a handful very quickly, completely ruining her appetite for dinner. But that’s ok. Because Auntie Weety doesn’t care if you ruin your appetite on shredded cheese and chocolate milk. Because Auntie Weety is the best auntie EVER.
After dinner, Abby got a slight tummy ache.
I soothed her the best I could, offering her a cookie and some pudding. Yes, that was probably not the best plan, I realize that. We then watched Schoolhouse Rock (although Conjunction Junction and Lolly Lolly Lolly Get Your Adverbs Here were probably over the head of the kid who can barely read). Then we got ready for bed, giggling the entire way. I read her some Dr. Suess and got lost in the lovely words. Dr. Suess is not properly appreciated, quite honestly. There should be more Dr. Suess in the world. More yosets in the closets and yellars in the cellars. Then I did another Mommy thing and made sure that she went to the bathroom before she went to sleep.
Through the night, I became convinced that she was having problems breathing, but she was fine. And I experienced that parental moment of rapture watching her sleep, mouth open, sweet childbreath whispering, limbs twisted through her purple comforter, a little starfish fairy in a sea of dreams.
My sleep was not as pleasant. I couldn’t figure out how to work Mo’s alarm clock. I didn’t have my Aveda lip stuff. Mo’s pillows are not down but rather disgustingly Polyfilled. There is a street light that shines in her window and despite the fact that her duplex is further into suburbia than my 1950’s era bungalow seven blocks away, her neighborhood is extremely loud, filled with the sounds of children protesting their bedtimes and teenagers driving too fast. I dreamed that we were being blitzed by Germany and the air was filled with flocks of bombers flying low like that scene in Pearl Harbor. My house in the dream was an old white farmhouse with a wraparound porch and a hall that went from the front to the back to catch breezes. I was trying to save my valuables when a pregnant bomber dropped a package of fire and explosives into the house. I ran from the house, jumping off the porch and caught a back full of flame, surviving with a crust of third degree burns. Those are not pleasant dreams. I woke up too early, fell back asleep, and then woke up too late.
I let Abby sleep while I took a shower, dancing around a tub full toys. I tell you Sponge Bob Squarepants isn’t as innocent as he seems. That cheeky little monkey absolutely leered at the wet Weetabodkin in the early hours of the morning.
Abby woke without a problem and dressed in the perfectly matched sport ensemble that Mo had thoughtfully laid out for us. She is dressed like a miniature Gwen Stefani today and to celebrate that fact, we sang No Doubt songs to each other as we dressed. Abby insisted upon picking up her room and straightening her daisy rugs. She’s very proud of her room. Then she ate a breakfast consisting of Trix Bubblegum flavored yogurt (which, by the way, tastes like utter bubblegum flavored ass) a cherry Pop Tart and some more chocolate milk.
Then she got another tummy ache.
I started to panic. I did a mental recall of everything she ate (pizza, cheese, yogurt, pudding, chocolate milk, PopTart) and realized that it was all dairy and sugar. Good God! If the kid wasn’t lactose intolerant or diabetic before this, she would probably be by the time I was through with her. She likely wouldn’t poo for days after all of that cheese and when she did, it would be like a cork popping from a bottle of shaken champagne. I wanted to point at her stomach and say ‘Listen, don’t rat me out!’
Afterwards, I was all afluster. I had forgotten to bring hair gel, so I borrowed a different Tigi product than I normally use but found in Mo’s bathroom. It was apparently was the wrong product completely. I suspect that it is just pleasantly scented Gojo soap. I tried to spread it through my damp hair and it slicked everything everywhere. The bottle made claims of ‘funkifying’ my hair, but after blowdrying, I was reminded of the semen incident in Something About Mary. It was certainly funkified, but not in the way one would hope, and certainly not in the manner that went with the look of the day (periwinkle sweater twinset and black trousers). I freestyled with a sparkly bobby pin and an apologetic look. It’s karma, really. Karma for loading my goddaughter with enough lactose to bring down a gaggle of aged Shriners.
She was very concerned about the remaining Pop Tart, so I packed it up as a snack for her day at my mom’s house. Along with some string cheese.
What? Stop looking at me like that.
I dropped her off at my mom’s at precisely the moment that the sugar from breakfast hit, which was my plan from the beginning. I explained to Mom about the tummy ache and asked her to call me if it got worse or better. Mom declared that a Pop Tart, some yogurt and half a glass of chocolate milk shouldn’t have given her a tummy ache, which made me feel a little better. We suspect that she was overfull.
This is why all of you should be grateful that I do not have spawn.
I just checked and Abby’s tummy is feeling much better. She ate half the cheese already and requested the second Pop Tart, but only ate two pieces before declaring that she was full. Mom’s making ‘something healthy’ for lunch. Probably sprout stir-fry or Not!Dogs if I know her.
I do know one thing: I so have to remove the incriminating evidence before we pick Mo up from the airport tonight. There is just no good way to spin those cookies.
