“How was your day?” my sister asked tonight.
“I am living in a mental institution,” I answered.
Good heavens. Between Dillon and Fiffer (not to mention Feffer and Feff) right now, things are tough.
After a peaceful respite at the skate park this morning (when they were busy and happy enough to leave one another alone), they were in rare form.
Here are some snippets of conversation from today:
Fiffer: I farted.
Dillon (laughing): I know.
F (completely without malice): Ha, ha! I farted in your room, you @#$%^&*.
D (frantically): I need to earn some money!
Me: Why the big rush?
D: I need money so that when I decide to move out, I’ll have some.
M: So you’re still thinking about running away?
D: Definitely when I get a driver’s license, if not before.
M: Seriously? Why? What is the problem? You have a beautiful home, a loving family…
D: I’m just ready to live my own life.
M: I’m not helping you start a runaway fund.
F: Dillon, can you help me find my stickers?
F: Hurry up and find them, you #$%&*
D: I want to live with Zach and Raven.
D: But I want to!
M: I hear you. No.
D: How about if I live with them a week and then I live here a week? I could trade off.
D: Why not?
M: Um, Zach and Raven have enough to do to take care of themselves. Plus, the baby will be here in January. Plus…that’s right…you’re our kid.
D: But I’m saying I would rather live somewhere else!
M: And I’m saying the answer is no.
D: You never let me do anything!
D: Are you coming outside?
F: Yes, you #$%&*.
D: Can you send me somewhere for a few days?
M: Send you somewhere?
M: Like where? Camp? We don’t have the money for camp, dude.
D: It doesn’t matter… somewhere…for a break.
M (playing dumb): Oh, that’s OK. I’m feeling pretty good. I don’t really need a break.
D: I need a break.
M (eye roll and sigh): No.
D: If I run away, you’ll get in trouble.
M: I’ll get in trouble? For what?
D: DCFS will come and take me away…and the foster kids…and you’ll face legal repercussions (this is straight from Zachery, by the way).
M: Because you run away?
M: No, I won’t. If you run away, I’ll call the police, and they’ll bring you home. If you run away again, I’ll call the police again, and they’ll bring you home. Eventually, if you keep it up, the judge will send you to a juvenile facility where you can’t run away. If you think you don’t have enough freedom here, that place will really impress you. I will miss you, but those decisions are on you, not me.
D: You wouldn’t get in trouble?
M: Because you run away? No.
When Jason got home, he took the little
beasts darlings on a bike ride. Since everyone hit the ground running this morning, I hadn’t even showered yet, so I decided to slip in the bathtub for a bit before supper. I had barely gotten settled and opened my book when Hayden came in. “Mom, Zach’s here. I told him Dad was gone and you were in the tub, but he says he needs to talk to you.”
Crap. Figuring it was something big and worrying that it was something with the baby, I hauled my tired butt out and got dressed. Coming downstairs, I asked him what was up. He had a cut on his finger. A small cut.
Z: Do you think I need to have it stitched or glued?
Z: You don’t?
M: It’s not gaping at all, dude. It’s not even very big. No.
Z: But it hurts.
M: I’m sure it does. But, no.
Z: Oh, OK.
M: Was there something else?
M: You got me out of the tub for that?
Z: Aren’t you happy I stopped by?
M: Um, yes, OK. Why don’t you go pick up Raven and come over after while for supper?
Z: Nah, we have other plans tonight.
M: I love you, dude. Now get out of my house.
F: Can I go upstairs with the boys?
M: Seriously? You’ve been calling Dillon names all day.
F: I won’t. I promise.
M: OK, but you only get one chance. If you blow it, you’re done.
F (after running happily upstairs…to Dillon): Don’t worry, Dillon. I’ll be good, you $%#&*.
M: Get your butt back down here!
D: Why is F’s door open?
Jason: It is?
Jason goes up to find Fiffer fast asleep with the alarm from her door in her hand. So helpful.