through the phone line.
“What’s wrong? Is everything okay? What’s going on? Are the kids all right? Let me talk to McKenna!”
Bitch. “Hi, Caroline. I’m fine, thanks, how are you doing?”
“With you looking after Tebow and McKenna? How do you think I am?”
I hate her.
“You’re welcome, sister dear. It’s my pleasure to come all this way to take care of your kids.”
“Give me a break, Meg. You don’t want to be there any more than I want to be stuck in here.”
“And yet, here I am. The least you can do is say ‘thank you.’”
There is a pause on the line. “Thank you,” Caroline says finally, her voice tight, and I can only imagine how hard that was for her to say.
I glance over at the table and see that in the absence of my nephew, the girls are all drawing on each other. If my arms weren’t full of toddler, I’d slap my forehead. At least they’re so focused on decorating themselves in kindergarten hieroglyphics that they’re barely making noise. And by ‘barely,’ I mean the kitchen no longer sounds like a football stadium during the Super Bowl.
“What’s going on there? Why didn’t you answer the phone? I called about a half an hour ago.”
In my mind, I rewind the last thirty minutes of my life (and what a banner thirty minutes they have been!). Likely, Caroline called during the air raid siren. Can’t really explain to my sister-in-law that I almost burned the house down, now can I?
“I was in the shower,” I lie.
“What?!? How did you manage to take a shower with seven children in the house? I can barely shower with just my two.”
“Sounds like a personal problem to me,” I say drily.
“Very funny. I’m serious!”
“The kids were fine, Caroline. They were watching Dora.”
“You put on the TV? Oh, God. I knew it.”
What the hell’s wrong with the TV? “It’s a very entertaining show. And educational, too.” How many piña coladas can you drink tonight? Uno, dos, tres, quatro! I hear her sigh over the phone line. “Look, Caroline, it was for exactly twenty-two minutes. Twenty-two minutes of television is not going to rot their brains.” Of course, they’ll be watching a lot more than twenty-two minutes when Auntie Meg is on duty. But I needn’t share that at the moment.
“I want to talk to McKenna,” she demands. “I want to hear my daughter’s voice.”
“She’s a little busy right now.” God, the stink in Tebow’s pants is starting to make me dizzy. “And I have to go.”
“What’s that noise in the background?”
“The girls. They’re getting ready for dinner. Here. Talk to Tebow.”
I hand my nephew the phone and he immediately starts to gnaw on the receiver. I pull it away from him, then hold it properly against his ear.
“Say hi to Mama,” I tell him while Caroline starts babbling to him in a sickly sweet voice.
“Hi, TeeTee! It’s Mommy! How’s my big boy?”
Tebow’s eyes light up. “Mommy!” he shrieks with delight. “Mommy, mommy, mommy! Fuck me!”
“WHAT???” Caroline cries.
My finger accidentally presses the ‘off’ button, disconnecting the call. Ooops .
“TeeTee poopoo,” my nephew says, smiling happily as though his taking a shit is the most exciting thing on earth.
“McKenna!” I yelp. “Do you know how to change your brother’s diaper?”
“No-way, olay! I’m not ‘llowed.”
Terrific!
Holding my nephew at arm’s length, so I won’t have to change my clothes again—and trash another ensemble, no matter how much it deserves to be trashed based on what it is—I carry Tebow into his room and set him gingerly upon his changing table. I stand there for a moment, regarding his lower half as though it’s a time bomb about to explode.
I count to ten. Then to twenty. Then to thirty.
Very gently, I tug at the waistband of his jammie bottoms, so as not to disturb the diaper. As soon as I get them to his knees, an unbelievably toxic stink assaults my nasal passages.
I stop what I’m
“What’s wrong? Is everything okay? What’s going on? Are the kids all right? Let me talk to McKenna!”
Bitch. “Hi, Caroline. I’m fine, thanks, how are you doing?”
“With you looking after Tebow and McKenna? How do you think I am?”
I hate her.
“You’re welcome, sister dear. It’s my pleasure to come all this way to take care of your kids.”
“Give me a break, Meg. You don’t want to be there any more than I want to be stuck in here.”
“And yet, here I am. The least you can do is say ‘thank you.’”
There is a pause on the line. “Thank you,” Caroline says finally, her voice tight, and I can only imagine how hard that was for her to say.
I glance over at the table and see that in the absence of my nephew, the girls are all drawing on each other. If my arms weren’t full of toddler, I’d slap my forehead. At least they’re so focused on decorating themselves in kindergarten hieroglyphics that they’re barely making noise. And by ‘barely,’ I mean the kitchen no longer sounds like a football stadium during the Super Bowl.
“What’s going on there? Why didn’t you answer the phone? I called about a half an hour ago.”
In my mind, I rewind the last thirty minutes of my life (and what a banner thirty minutes they have been!). Likely, Caroline called during the air raid siren. Can’t really explain to my sister-in-law that I almost burned the house down, now can I?
“I was in the shower,” I lie.
“What?!? How did you manage to take a shower with seven children in the house? I can barely shower with just my two.”
“Sounds like a personal problem to me,” I say drily.
“Very funny. I’m serious!”
“The kids were fine, Caroline. They were watching Dora.”
“You put on the TV? Oh, God. I knew it.”
What the hell’s wrong with the TV? “It’s a very entertaining show. And educational, too.” How many piña coladas can you drink tonight? Uno, dos, tres, quatro! I hear her sigh over the phone line. “Look, Caroline, it was for exactly twenty-two minutes. Twenty-two minutes of television is not going to rot their brains.” Of course, they’ll be watching a lot more than twenty-two minutes when Auntie Meg is on duty. But I needn’t share that at the moment.
“I want to talk to McKenna,” she demands. “I want to hear my daughter’s voice.”
“She’s a little busy right now.” God, the stink in Tebow’s pants is starting to make me dizzy. “And I have to go.”
“What’s that noise in the background?”
“The girls. They’re getting ready for dinner. Here. Talk to Tebow.”
I hand my nephew the phone and he immediately starts to gnaw on the receiver. I pull it away from him, then hold it properly against his ear.
“Say hi to Mama,” I tell him while Caroline starts babbling to him in a sickly sweet voice.
“Hi, TeeTee! It’s Mommy! How’s my big boy?”
Tebow’s eyes light up. “Mommy!” he shrieks with delight. “Mommy, mommy, mommy! Fuck me!”
“WHAT???” Caroline cries.
My finger accidentally presses the ‘off’ button, disconnecting the call. Ooops .
“TeeTee poopoo,” my nephew says, smiling happily as though his taking a shit is the most exciting thing on earth.
“McKenna!” I yelp. “Do you know how to change your brother’s diaper?”
“No-way, olay! I’m not ‘llowed.”
Terrific!
Holding my nephew at arm’s length, so I won’t have to change my clothes again—and trash another ensemble, no matter how much it deserves to be trashed based on what it is—I carry Tebow into his room and set him gingerly upon his changing table. I stand there for a moment, regarding his lower half as though it’s a time bomb about to explode.
I count to ten. Then to twenty. Then to thirty.
Very gently, I tug at the waistband of his jammie bottoms, so as not to disturb the diaper. As soon as I get them to his knees, an unbelievably toxic stink assaults my nasal passages.
I stop what I’m
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