Demon Baby's Mother for . . . Best Performance Acting Surprised 53 Times Before Lunch!!!
"I'd like to thank the Academy . . . ."
Demon Baby has a new game. He takes a gift bag--one of those bags mothers like me use because we're too lazy/exhausted/insane/busy to actually WRAP a present. And he goes throughout the house putting stuff in it. Then he gives me my "present." Which I must open. Once I am done, he takes the bag, goes away, fills it again, brings it back, and we begin. Again. And again. I have opened my "presents" at least 50 times today and it's not even NOON. The crap littering my office is astounding.
"Go on, open it Mama!!!"
My performance begins.
"How did you KNOW? I mean, how could one genius little precious baby know that I have WANTED a used printer cartridge for so long? Did you find it in the trash?"
"Yes, Mama. But there's more."
I look in the bag. I feign SHOCK and AWE. "You are kidding me!!! How could you afford this? Cotton balls? AND one sock. You are too generous."
"I need the bag back." I hand him the bag.
Ten minutes later.
"MAMA! I have a SURPRISE for you! You won't believe it!"
I look in the bag.
"Get out of town! My very own stuffed dog missing one eye. He is so cute! I have wanted a stuffed dog like this for a long, long time."
"Oh . . . candy! Wherever did you get this candy?"
"I was saving it. Under the couch cushions. Eat it."
"I'll save it for later."
"No. Eat it."
"Not until I am done opening presents. . . . What? A banana peel? Were you eating a banana this morning?"
"Even BETTER. Wow . . . I don't even know what to say! I really don't. I'm pretty speechless, my little pumpkin."
"I don't know if I can accept any more. I mean . . . you are just too generous. When I am an old lady sitting in a nursing home, I am going to tell everyone there about how you gave me all this stuff. No more . . . really. I can't possibly accept anything more. there's not even ROOM on my desk for all this stuff."
H puts his hands on his hips. "OPEN IT!"
I know better than to argue. I pull out a small soccer trophy. He got it for playing peewee soccer at the Y and it is one of his prized possessions.
"A trophy! Oh . . . my sweet, sweet little evil genius . . . I can't take this. I didn't earn it."
"You did! It's yours."
"For being the most awesomest humongasaurus mother ever."
I wipe a tear from my eye. For once, it's not a tear from crying over a broken vacuum cleaner or the fact that he tried to feed my diamond ring to the dog. It's a soccer trophy.
I will treasure it always. I'll put it right next to my Oscar.