I’ll show you weeping angels

(scene opens in empty parlor, deep cleaning in progress)

Me: (sweeping under couch) Gamma! Come here and get your books! (repeat several times, turns to look)
Gamma: (perfectly still, posed on a footstool)
Me: Gamma, come here please.
Gamma: (no response, immobile)
Me: Gamma! (grabs arm)
Gamma: (resists while keeping pose)
Beta: (with derision, from dining room) She says she can’t move while I’m looking at her. (stare intensifies)
Me: (incredulous and with murderous intent) Maybe you could stop looking at her.
Beta: (callously) Fine. (breaks eye contact)
Gamma: (bright and spritely, turns to mother) Did you want something mama?
Me: The tears of the innocent.

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Out of Control Thursday

Found myself re-enacting childhood scenarios of making the children quail in table-flipping house cleaning because the mess was a clear indication that we had fallen into barbarism and they were going to grow up living like hoarders thus I had failed them as a parent. All before school. Need to get my Early Childhood Programing in check before I set fire to the bedrooms. If exterior applications of order are meant to quell inner chaos, the problem is within. Coffee first. Then loud music. Then dish washing. The rest will follow.