Anyone who points out that my occasional (meaning every weekend) need for an afternoon nap is really a sign of advancing years is welcome to go read another blog! Nonetheless it's true that I do enjoy the odd Saturday afternoon nap. I also enjoy the odd recline between arriving home from the office and dinner.
Such a pity, then, that we still have Morgan here, in the room directly above ours. Now I'll admit that it was a strategic error, borne of insufficient experience with the young lady aforesaid, when, five years ago, I suggested we remove the carpets and lay down hardwood floors. How was I to know, then, that Morgan is capable of making more noise, for less reason, than a fully laden 747 on it's take off run?
Well, maybe I exaggerate, but not by much.
Thus, over the last nine months or so since we were 'blessed' with her return, I find myself sometimes unable to nap. I don't know what she's dropping on the floor but I refer to it as 'someone dropped their testicles again'. More than once I've vaulted up the stairs to shout at her. Such are the vicissitudes of sharing a house with the thoughtless. Every time I make protest she tries the 'butter wouldn't melt in her mouth' pose of innocent surprise. 'I didn't know you were trying to sleep'.
Hmmm. I could go on with the justifications for my position on the matter but methinks you get the drift.
Today Ryan, her infant, was somewhat cranky. I don't mind his noise half as much as I mind Morgans. She interprets that as 'I can't do anything right as far as Rob is concerned' and she may be right. Just the other night Sonya asked me, apropos of a conversation she'd had with her daughter, 'why do you live?'. Without even thinking about it I replied 'I live to thwart Morgan at every turn'. Sonya laughed but I fear there is more than a grain of truth in my reply. The original question was prompted by Morgan musing on the paradox of working for a living. As she apparently expressed it (she never says these things in front of me - I get them secondhand) 'I can live at Dads and be broke, or I can get a job and have my own place and be broke. So why work?'.
Words fail me. I could have wasted my breath retailing all the standard reasons for working and being independent and standing on your own feet and all that. Given that my audience was Sonya it would have been preaching to the converted.
I've digressed somewhat but no matter; Ryan makes noise because he doesn't know any better. He's only 25 months old. Morgan at 245 months should know better.
This afternoon the little princess was trying to get an afternoon nap and Ryan wasn't having any of it. She came downstairs complaining that it was 'impossible' to get any sleep in this house.
I fear that I was less than charitable. Indeed, it struck me as quite the funniest thing I'd heard in ages. Morgan didn't much appreciate my laughing quite as uproariously as I did; she whizzed a cushion at me.
How unfortunate that I'd just made myself a coffee. Uh huh, the entire cup (barely sipped at) went flying, all over my three computers. Fortunately they had the covers on (the geeks among you will understand that) and there was no damage.
I couldn't see her face so I don't know what she expected. I can guess the expectation was of a confrontation, which would probably have been exactly what she wanted. Instead, I picked up the cup and said 'damn, now I have to make another coffee'.
Sometimes you just have to mess with their minds. But damn, she's a good shot. I suppose I ought to be glad there wasn't a knife handy!