Friday, February 06, 2009


"MAAAAA-MAAAAA!!!!!" she screams, as she zips in from the patio with him hot on her little tail.

"NO, MAMA," he yells from the patio, "SHE'S LYING!!!!" And he frantically kicks his shoes off before coming inside to level his defense.

"Mama, Santiago..." huff, puff... "Santiago..." she tries to quickly get out. "He...tied me up." Her hands very dramatically positioned upon both her flushed cheeks after she theatrically swipes the back of her hand across her forehead and as she heaves in and out trying to catch her breath or possibly incite hyperventilation if this so happens to not go her way.

But it was too little, too late. The boy was in. And the appeal process had begun.

"Mom," he says very calmly, standing shoulder to shoulder with his quote-unquote-victim and looking me straight in the eye. His hands outstretched, palms up, as he prepares to plead his case.

And she opens her mouth, feigning offense, knowing she's usually done for at this point. Because he can argue and negotiate himself out of World War III. And as she begins to try to interject, I raise my palm to shush her and say, "It's his turn. You'll get your rebuttal in just a second."

He grins a little until I flash him the look, and then he straightens up, consciously composing himself as he calmly says with a slight shrug of his shoulders,"She told me to."

And with a final over-exaggerated gasp and a roll of her eyes, she concedes and marches off to her room.

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