Sunday morning
The girls were up at seven, and so was the dog. I fed and let out Sully; the girls helped themselves to the TV. Everyone seemed okay to me so I went back to my warm bed — and didn’t wake up again until nine, which is pretty much unheard of in these parts, these days. The girls had been left alone with the television so long they actually grew sick of it, turned it off, and began working on some art projects in the dining room. The term benign neglect sprang to mind.
Stella came in to snuggle — this is what finally woke us — and told us about a paper helicopter she was making in the other room. When snuggle time was over, she got out of bed and announced, “And now I’m going to go make history!” I wish I felt that way upon getting out of bed.
The morning art projects resulted in hundreds of minute paper cuttings all over the dining room rug. Chris told the girls they’d have to pick up after themselves before they could expect breakfast, which garnered predictable results — much whining, little action. When the floor was (kind of) clean, Lila whined for pancakes. When we asked her to repeat her request without whining, it seemed that Lila was literally unable to do it. She tried again and again, and the closest she got was a monotone drone. ”You sound kind of like a robot!” Stella shouted joyfully. Which led to robotics from both girls for the next ten minutes.
Pancakes were, of course, had. Conversation wound through Word Girl episode recaps to Stephen Colbert to Emmy awards to the Oscars. Lila saw ten minutes of the Oscars last spring, and recalled that Hannah Montana was there. ”But her real name isn’t Hannah Montana, you know,” I said. ”I know,” Lila answered, “but I don’t remember what it is.” ”It’s Jody Minnesoty,” Chris replied, which brought the morning back where it ought to have been all along.
