Friday, December 21, 2007

Control Freak

Just when John thinks he's competent in areas stereotypically (and typically) maternal, I must move in, swiftly, to prove him wrong.

Take packing up the school backpacks. This morning.

Because I am very busy re-gifting, moving piles of cookies that somebody else baked onto a big platter to take in to the children's school, John offers to load the backpacks.

He will do it incorrectly, of course.

"That would be great, honey," I say.

Not one to let pathological interpersonal dynamics go unrewarded, Scarlett screams: "NO!! Don't let him! He'll forget something!"

But John is certain. He is confident, unbeatable.

I grill him as I totter out the door under all those cookies: Snow pants? Secret Santa envelope? A mitten for every hand? Hats? Teachers' gifts?

"It's all there."

I shake the entire drive to school. And then . . .

"Merrick's shoes! I bet he forgot those! Scarlett?"

She is already joyfully, triumphantly, ripping through that backpack. "Nope! He forgot the shoes! He forgot something--again!"


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