The other day, we were all walking into Walmart together and it jogged my memory about a story our neighbor, Ms. Mary, shared with me about her aging mother and an embarrassing scuffle they had at Walmart so I shared it with Brent and Beatle. We kind of got a giggle out of it with me concluding that if my parents ever acted like that, I would spank their bottoms. :) On the way home from Walmart, panic washed over me because I started thinking about how Beatle confesses EVERYTHING to our neighbor. Because it wasn't a cherished memory between the neighbor and her mother, I don't know how she would like it if a 6-year-old strolled up and said, "Haha! Remember the time your mom got mad at you and rammed you with her motor scooter. She had you pinned against the bread aisle and bread was falling all around you and you had to shout at her before she put her scooter in reverse and acted like nothing happened while everyone stared at you like you were the bad guy??? Haha! That was so funny!" I got freaked out by that scenario so I took a moment to make everyone in the car solemnly swear that they wouldn't bring this story up around Ms. Mary. But that wasn't good enough, because all the while different scenes were flashing in my head of when Beatle had betrayed me to Ms. Mary so, ever so intensely, I reiterated the seriousness of NOT talking about this with her. Beatle starts breathing like a weirdo in the backseat and I commanded that she stop breathing like that. Brent, my life, my love, had to draw the line at that point. He said something to the effect of, "I was with you until you started telling her how to breathe." It broke the tension in the car and made me laugh a little when I realized that I was careening out of control. I asked Beatle, "Well, why were you breathing like that?" She took a moment and said, "Cause I was scared of you!" Oh my goodness! That's exactly what every mom dreams of hearing their precious child say someday.
I don't call Birdie by that endearment much anymore. Lately, Mighty Mouse has been more fitting. She'll do pull-ups on anything. It's terrifying. And while I was writing the above paragraph, I watched as she struggled to move the step stool from the kitchen to the front door. She stood on top and was working the handle of the front door. Had it not been locked, she could have easily opened the door. I texted a picture of her silhouette, hand on the handle, to Brent and he texted back, "Really?!? Like we don't have enough to worry about with her!!" I get such a kick out of watching him try to keep up with her. He doesn't think about where he sets stuff down so she's constantly grabbing his iPad, glasses, coffee cup, etc. He gets so frazzled.
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