The Plot

Before I begin: Yes, my mother really has an antique stove on the front porch of her 1910 house. During the trip to New Mexico last week, the Honorable Mention Redneck Comment Award of the Day was given when I gave my brother directions to get to my Grandpa's house that included the line, "Turn between the big onion barn and Weeping Jesus on the Cross."

On to my tale.

We have been traveling a good bit lately. We drove in to Abilene to see my parents for a few days over Christmas, then drove to Salem, New Mexico for Grandpa's 90th birthday party. (If you know where Salem is, leave a comment. Unless you're related to me, because that doesn't really count, now does it???) Now we're back in Abilene to see a few more relatives and have a New Year's party before heading home tomorrow.

The girls, having ridden 500+ miles in the car yesterday, were cranky and reluctant to go to sleep. They also had opted to play with the many Christmas gifts they'd been cruelly parted from for entire days while we'd made the trip, and thus decided that toys were WAY cooler than supper could ever be. So they were quite upset when it came to going to sleep.

I tried having them lay on the living room floor and watch SpongeBob. When I woke up after several episodes and they were still awake, I turned it off and told them to go to bed. This was when Daddy appeared, successfully returning from shopping after only 3x the length of time he'd predicted. They begged him into telling at least three stories that I heard from the next room before he left and told them to go to bed.

Then Dixie decided that her tummy was 'hurting, hurting' and so Dowlan, assuming that a little calcium never killed anyone, gave them each a Tums, which Dixie rapidly gobbled and begged for more and Melody stared at as if it were poison. I called from the other room to remind Melody that she used to follow me around while I was pregnant with Charlie and bum them off of me. She consented to consuming it.

So, for a third time, the girls are left alone to fight, kick and scream their way to a peaceful slumber.

They begin by alternating their sobs. One screams DAAAAAAAAAA-DDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! and then hitches a breath. The other one is poised, ready to scream DAAAAAAAA-DDEEEEEE! as soon as the first lets up. Their artful timing allowed for no respite between wails and pleas.

Realizing that this is getting nowhere, I hear Dixie tell Melody, "You rest while I scream for him." I can only imagine Melody laying, draped across a pillow, wearied from her howls and Dixie warmly and lovingly patting her on the shoulder in reassurance before taking up her shift.

At this point I holler to the other room to make them aware of the fact that DAAAA-DDEEEE is downstairs and cannot hear them.

Dixie: Then I must yell LOUDER.
Melody: Yes. You must. It is the only way.
Dixie: DAAA-DDEEEE!
Melody: I AM HUNGARY.
D: YES! SHE IS HUNGARY. AND THIRSTY.
M: YES. AND THIRSTY. AND HUNGARY. HUNGARY HUNGARY.
D: DADDEEEEEE!
M: DADDEEEEEE!
D: It isn't working. He is never coming.
M: Well I am NOT going to sleep.
D: Me neither. We must continue yelling.
M: Yes, we must. Daddy will hear us and will help.
D: Yes. Mommy will never help us. She will only tell us to stop yelling and go to bed.
M: Then we must continue yelling. DAAAAAA-DEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

And, thusly, it continues for about another four minutes until they succumb to their exhaustion, and fall asleep. I go into my Mom's room, where I find my mother paralyzed with laughter. Dowlan comes up the stairs to join us in our muffled howls.



I guess it is a sign that the adoption is going well, that the girls have declared peace within the ranks and are now uniting against a common enemy: Their Parents.

I thought that wasn't supposed to happen until they turned fourteen.