Just now, I caught the girls playing outside naked and I went ballistic.
That's an exaggeration. I didn't exactly go ballistic. But I may or may not have said "what is the matter with you?" four or five times in a row.
Look, I sent the little exhibitionists outside with clothes on, ok? And I think I have ten minutes to, I don't know, check my email or do some laundry or basically engage in all kinds of the not-savoring-your-children behavior I was preaching against last Thursday.
And then I find them naked as mole rats on the patio reveling in the water hose. And what the hell, kids? You have been told a billion times you can't go outside in your nuddy-pants anymore. At our old house you were babies and no one could see you, and birthday suits were acceptable. Here, the entire neighborhood can see you, including the neighbors that come running out onto their raised back patio when Josh and Keen Eye start fighting and ask if everything is ok. Nobody in Fort Collins minds their own business, and especially not our neighbors.
"If you keep going outside naked," I say to the girls, deciding to level with them, "the neighbors will think mommy is a BAD MOMMY and call the police."
(This is the kind of truth-bomb I drop on them when all other methods of coercion are exhausted). Like this:
"Mommy, can I throw my trash on the ground?"
"No honey, I goes in the trash can."
"But can't I just throw it over here? Those people did."
"No honey, because it isn't polite."
"Mommy, I want to throw cans in the river!"
"Don't throw your cans in the river and mummy will buy you an ice cream."
"But mommy, can't I just--"
"NO YOU CANNOT THROW YOUR TRASH ON THE GROUND BECAUSE IT WILL STAY THERE FOR ALL ETERNITY AND MAKE THE EARTH CRY AND ALL THE BABY DOLPHINS IN THE OCEAN WILL CRY TEARS OF BLOOD AND AGENT ORANGE AND TURN TO THEIR MOTHERS AND SAY WHY CAN'T I BE FREE, MOMMY, WHY MOMMY WHY?????"
I'm calling this day a wash and preparing for a better one tomorrow.
But yesterday, Noah planned an outing to the park, and it was lovely, and here is the evidence.
Noah brought snacks of bananas and milk and cornbread. We have known for some time now that Noah should have been the stay at home parent all along, ok? So don't feel compelled to write to me and say "Vesuvius, we have noticed that Noah is capable of bringing the girls to the park supplied with more than a pack of gum and a fantasy novel. . ." or even, "Vesuvius, we have noticed that Noah takes the girls to the park." We know, we know. It's too late now. One does what one must.
This One must now go run interference on two goblin children who are recreating the mudfest that was the original Woodstock in the back yard.
Love to you.