It was a bloodcurdling scream. One that made me jump and pause my television show at an awkward moment. (I was watching Girls. And one of the men in the show was, ahh, pleasuring himself in front of the girl he sleeps with…)
The noise was coming from Natalie’s room.
Crap.
The child is forever getting hurt.
“WHAT HAPPENED?” I shouted as I thundered up the stairs. Our home is not a quiet one. We shout. We yell. We fart. And, well, scream. All the “experts” would be appalled in our home.
“Look!” Natalie shrieked when I rushed to her room. I expected to find her bleeding or curled up on the ground, gripping a wounded part of her body. But no. Instead she shoved a broken crown at me.
“It’s BROKEN and I love it so much!” Natalie wailed. “MERIDA! MERIIDAAAA!”
I took a few calming breaths. I was relieved that she wasn’t hurt. No late night trip to the ER. Thank goodness. Our ER takes forever and always smells like old people mixed with vomit and antiseptic.
But. Wait a minute. It was a little after 11 at night. Why was she even awake?
Well, I’ll tell you. My daughter is a late owl like I am. I suppose I should force her into bed but if she’s anything like me, she’ll just lie there, tossing and turning and that’s no fun. So on non school nights, I’m lax about bedtime so long as she stays upstairs. I put the kids in their rooms by 8 and they play in their rooms until they get tired.
So long as they aren’t bothering me.
Which sometimes they still do.
Like when they break a toy and suddenly it’s MY problem.
“I accidentally stepped on it,” Natalie sniffled.
“Let me...try to glue it back together,” I said, taking the pieces. It’s times like these when I wished Tom were home. Natalie is never as dramatic or loud when he’s around. She hates to disappoint him. Me? She’ll disappoint me all day and be perfectly content with it.
“You hurt my feelings,” I’ll tell her.
She’ll pat my head in a patronizing way and go, “Maybe you need some chocolate.”
If DADDY says that she hurt his feelings she’ll fling herself into his arms and go, “I’m sorry, Daddy! I love you!” and then kiss him on the cheek.
That’s fine though. No biggie. I only gave her life.
I went downstairs with the crown and found the Super Glue. I opened it and squeezed and…nothing came out. There was some dried glue on the tip. So I kept squeezing—not the smartest choice, but it was late and I just wanted to get back to watching TV in peace--and then the glue burst like a zit. Glue sprayed down my hand, on the kitchen counter and floors…
“I’ve been glued!” I shouted. “I’ve been glued!” I felt like I was in an episode of an 80s sitcom.
The crown was stuck against two of my fingers. Still broken.
I ran my hand under steaming hot water and most of the glue came off. I still had some residue left behind though. And the crown was still broken.
“I’ll deal with this later,” I promised Natalie. “You need to get to bed.”
She didn’t put up a fight because she found her Rapunzel crown and placed it on her head demurely.
Is the crown fixed now?
Nope.
I’ve hidden the pieces in a drawer in hopes that Natalie forgets about it.
If she remembers, there’s always duct tape…
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