Yep, those words actually came out of my mouth. Why two girls with 5 Barbie dolls and 10 pairs of Barbie shoes have to argue about the same Rapunzel doll and the same pair of hot pink ankle boots is beyond me. “Figure it out.” Ensue arguing, screaming, crying.
I call for Sugarplum to come into the room where I am securely piled under a stack of clean clothes that need to be folded and put away. Continue arguing, screaming, crying.
I yell for Sugarplum to come see me. Yes, I yell. I won’t lie, I’m a yeller. Not because I’m angry but because I want to be sure my children (who have sweet little voices and screams octaves above my own) can hear me. Also because I have a 4 year-old whose listening skills closely resemble that of my 92 year-old grandmother: she can only hear you if you get her attention and she is looking directly at you. And because my nearly 6-month pregnant body that is securely planted on the floor is not as agile as it once was.
Girls continue to argue, scream and yell. I pull my aching body off the ground and try to nimbly step over the piles of neatly folded t-shirts and shorts (of course knocking over a few laundry towers in the process) and head to the adjacent play room. I take the hot pink ankle boots from Sugarplum and return them to Honeybun explaining “I just helped Honeybun put those shoes on Rapunzel, she had them first. Would you like this OTHER pair of hot pink ankle boots?” Sugarplum swats my hand, “No! I want the weh-woe shoes.” Okay. I help her put the yellow shoes on the new Barbie she got for Christmas.
It turns out I am a referee and I’ll have to wait a few more months (or years) until I can step back to the sidelines and join the cheering squad.
