>Lately I’ve been a little confused. It seems that while my kids think that I am the world’s dumbest human being, they also seem to think I’m Seattle’s answer to the Oracle of Delphi.
To wit: If you spit out chewed-up tofu behind the couch, I will find it. If you track dog crap into the house and don’t bother to clean it up or mention it to anyone, I will find it. If you have an accident in your pants and hide your underwear in the art supply cabinet, I will also find it. You really must think I am the world’s largest moron if you think you can get away with any of the above on my watch. And even when I’m not around, I’m around. So if you decide to pull some stunts at school — guess what? Yup, I’ll find it.
All this would fine, well somewhat fine, if they didn’t also expect me to know things well beyond my pay grade. For example, this week is Purim — the Jewish Halloween — and Efram, for some reason unknown, has declared himself a San Francisco 49-ers fan. So, when Bennett decided to be Peyton Manning (big shock there) for Purim, Efram announced he wanted to dress up as some guy named Frank Gore. No, we hadn’t ever heard of him either. But, I procured the jersey and some football pants for them, and even managed to get some of that black crap football players paint under their eyes. All in all, I was feeling rather smug and on top of things. Which is usually when things come to a SCREECHING HALT. Tonight Efram melted down all over us and from what I could understand: How could I, his own mother, be so cruel to send him into the world wearing a Frank Gore jersey when the older kids all made fun of what a crap player Frank Gore is? There was, he announced, no way in hell he was going to wear that jersey, and the entire shit-storm was my fault. (Ok, he didn’t use any of the above profanity, but I can.)
M didn’t make any of this better when he told me that next year he’d do what he did last year and take them all to the costume shop and let them pick out their own costumes.
I suppose I should have seen it coming. Last year Francie insisted she wanted to dress up as Jasmine, the princess from Aladdin. When the costume arrived in the mail she went postal. Needless to say, she wore some tatty old princess dress instead. Which is what I told Efram to do — not wear a princess dress, but to put something together from what we already have at home and avoid the taunts of the “older kids.” If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that the kids don’t always want me to solve their problem, they just want to feel listened to and commiserated with. I may be a moron, but I’m pretty sure I’m right about that.