Episode 1: Meet Luke and Leia

I wrote these episodes little bit ago about my niece and nephew. I wanted to share them here in their full beauty. With the hectic scheduled, I’ve not posted in a while, but these original three are sort of wonderful in their own right. I’ll post one a day for the next couple of days. I’ve considered moving future posts to this page so bear with me as I see if it seems to fit. Without further adieu, may I present a little child humor…

“Emmmmm!!!!!!” Screams Leia at the top of her lungs. God forbid she walks out of the hall and into the dining room to ask for help, no. She stands and screams my name while looking up at her jacket six inches too high for her to reach. I have no doubt that this is “normal” for children. They are the center of their own world after all and probably don’t think much of anyone one else’s eardrums.

“Yes, Leia? Can I help you please?” I say after sauntering to her side. No one gets to demand anything from me. I don’t care if you’re two years old or two hundred. Ask politely! How hard is it?

Leia smiles up at me with snot dripping down her face and points to the hat. “Auntie Emm hat.” I’ve been working on teaching her sign language because I read somewhere that children under ‘full sentence conversational age’ pick it up quite quickly. Then instead of staring at puppy dog eyes while pulling hair out wondering what the hell the kid wants, they tell you. Leia made the please sign for me so I grabbed the hat and handed it off to her.

Two months ago I spent my entire day working on my novel, drinking copious amounts of coffee, and sometimes getting dressed to do the aforementioned at a coffee shop instead of in my PJ’s at home. Usually when I’ve run out of said coffee. Okay only when I run out of said coffee.

But then the world came crashing down, while not quite so abruptly it still happened. My youngest sister doesn’t make good choices. She was living with a convicted felon who was arrested multiple times for reckless endangerment of his own daughter, not to mention a little birdy told us he was being watched by the local PD for selling drugs. Oh, and did I mention he has obvious meth mouth? Also, if that wasn’t enough to make you shiver: she’s sleeping with a registered sex offender behind the first guys back! There are some more details to the story but for now, this is enough to paint a pretty, pretty picture in all of your lovely minds.

My parents and I had a little pow-wow about the situation. We all agreed that we couldn’t in good conscience let the children stay in that environment. Long story short, two judges agreed. So now my single ass lives with her parents (at thirty no less) to help mold two young minds (I hope you caught the sarcasm there).

Leia is not quite two years old. I’m sure some good parent would spit out some magic number here like “Leia is 23 months old.” Actually, she’s damn near two so knock it off. Luke, on the other hand, is three and some change, a strapping young lad. The two of them share everything. Including boogers. And they didn’t come gift wrapped with a bow.

Can I take a moment and say that jumping into a parental role without any sort of build up to it fucking sucks. I love them – and don’t ever think I’m doing this with a gun to my head. I know where the door is and I know how to use it. It doesn’t change the fact that, truth be told being a parent is hard and children are little assholes.

Luke gets put on timeout a lot. A LOT – A LOT. His latest game has been telling his sister to do things he’s just been told not to.

“Luke, stop sitting on the cat. Get off of him, he doesn’t like it,” I say.

“He doesn’t like it?” Luke replies with an ear-to-ear grin, still remaining on the cat.

“Do you want me to sit on you like that? Get off! I promise you won’t like it, and neither does he.” I attempt a firmer voice. I walk over to him and he jumps up the moment I’m in arm’s reach.

“I love you, Auntie Emm,” he says with a grin I’ve grown to associate with being a monster.

“Come here, Luke. Let’s talk.” I figure if we can have a coherent conversation about what just happened then maybe he will understand and stop. Treat the kid like a human. None of this baby talk shit.

“Luke, we don’t sit on the cat. It’s not nice. It hurts him.” Small words, small sentences. I probably read that somewhere too.

“Don’t like it? Okay…” Luke says, in a soft remorseful voice. I’m sure with this reaction he gets it. 1 point Auntie Emm!

“Okay, I love you. Go play.”

I continue to make their breakfast because while they don’t ever seem to eat a lot at any given point, they are ALWAYS eating. It’s like feeding a heard of elephants all the time. Little mini elephants, that run and jump and want to eat everything in sight. And there own food isn’t good enough, they have to slobber all over mine. Germs are gross. Kid slobber is gross. While I’m bending to the ick factor, I’m not quite there just yet.

But wait. They’ve gotten quiet. Too quiet. Kids are never silent. I tiptoe to a closer position where they can’t see me, to listen.

“Leia sit on the cat. He likes it. Sit on the cat Leia,” says the oh so remorseful Luke.

What a little asshole. While I’ve never called him this, it’s like a chant playing in my mind over and over. What a little asshole.

Not only do I have to tell Leia not to listen to her big brother, which she does without question by the way, but now I have to put him on time-out for telling his sister to do what he’s just been told not to. What a little asshole!

Let’s take a moment for some Q & A. I’ll ask a question to the wide void of the web and we’ll see what answers come back. Today I’d like to know what the fascination with shit is. Literal feces. It’s like if there was one pile of dog crap on a deserted island, Luke would find it and play with it.

We live on a farm, and among the collective barnyard animals are three dogs. While initially, I’m sure I said something like “Don’t step in the dog shit Luke!” it has more commonly (and kid-safe might I add) become, “Don’t step/play/look at/touch the stinky poo-poo.”

Aren’t Monday’s your favorite day? I was solidly ready to get some work done, and even have a baby sister on the way so that I could be productive at the increasingly elusive coffee shop. I was wearing my brand new pair of jeans and my hair wasn’t doing the stupid flippy thing it likes to do. The kids are outside playing in the backyard and I was doing the fifteen-minute countdown until the sitter arrived.

“Auntie Emmmmm!” Luke yelled from outside.

It wasn’t his I’m hurt cry or his I’m stuck yell, that was his I’m going to do something I shouldn’t voice. I jumped up and went outside to see what he was going to do. It’s not like there much trouble he can get into in the backyard. Fully fenced, toys, oh and that deserted island dog shit.

“Luke, what’s up?” I asked from the patio. He’s pointing at the ground and smiling.

“It’s stinky poo-poo.” I wish I could capture his mischievous grin for you.

“Luke, leave the stinky poo-poo alone. Walk away.” I’m trying to give him my most warning voice.

“It’s stinky poo-poo auntie. Grandma clean it up?” He asks, still pointing at the pile of dog shit.

I’ve slowly started to make my way to him. I would hate to startle him into stepping in it before his chance is gone. “Yes, grandma will clean it up. Leave the stinky poo-poo alone or you’ll have to sit on time-out. Do you want to sit on time-out?”

It was in this moment that he decided he was going to lose his opportunity. He looked up at me, smiled and stepped in the dog shit full force. God dammit you little asshole!!!

“Luke! Now you have to go on time out.” But before I could reach him, and before his shoes actually came off he bolted for the house. Oh shit… Remember that perfect Monday morning where I was all ready to go? It turned into twenty minutes of scrubbing dog shit off the floor and my mother’s couch.

Children fucking suck sometimes. I know there is no way in hell I’m alone in my thoughts. At some point, every parent in the world has to have thought to him or herself, at this moment I hate my child. He is such a little asshole.

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