But there was nothing pleasant about trying to prevent Big Brother from pulling out all Little Sister’s hair, or buying him off with promises of a new book tomorrow, just go to sleep now so you can get off Damage Control Patrol.
Last night when you got yourself through those melt-downs by picturing these glorious two hours that you have, all to yourself today, you didn’t imagine that you’d be sitting here like a sticky lump of Play dough, unable to move.
Your brain and body don’t seem to recognize each other anymore. They may be permanently estranged. Maybe it’s from eating only brown and orange-colored food for oh, about three years. The only things that have passed your lips are: Gold-fish, graham crackers, hot dogs, mac and cheese. And don’t forget those peanut-butter crackers that are basically fancily packaged sodium.
Or maybe your brain has gone on strike from the sheer monotony of being a PhD who’s now working as a sandwich-maker/sponge-mopper/shelf-stocker. Maybe it’s from the years of having your musical repertoire reduced to a tune sung off-key by a fuzzy red creature. “La-la-la-la, Elmo’s World.”
What makes it worth losing your mind like this?
You return from your un-productive alone time and look at your children. Big Brother has his arm around Little Sister as he ‘reads’ her a story, flipping through the heavy pages of his card-board book. This time he doesn’t seem to notice the drool dripping off her chin, only that she’s gazing up at him, pouring adoration out of her toothless grin.
Your world opens up; the sky is raining love. There is a moment of sweetness. La-la-la-la.
By Mary Beth McClure
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