(scene opens in gloomy early morning dining room)
Me: (clicking laptop, nursing black coffee)
Gamma: (full of life and delight) Mom! Put this in your hair.
Me: (leans down without question, gets purple flower barrette clicked in place)
Gamma: There! Now you’re a real mom!
Me: I wasn’t a real mom before?
Gamma: Real moms wear flowers in their hair.
(scene opens in workspace, the floor ankle deep in bolts of fabrics)
Gamma: Mom! Can I have some fabric for making doll clothes?
Me: Sure. (paws through scrap pile for silk bits)
Gamma: Thanks mom! Hey, what are doll clothes.
Me: (pressing seam open in a cloud of steam) For dolls?
Gamma: No, what are they for?
Me: Doll clothes are for dolls to wear. (sits down at the serger)
Gamma: Mom, do you know anything about clothes?
Me: (side eye) Apparently not.
(scene opens on basement stairs)
Gamma: I want to wear my new hoodie!
Husband: (fusses with zipper) Can you get this to work?
Me: (fusses with zipper that isn’t setting right)
Husband: What do we not do while wearing white?
Gamma: Color on it?
Husband: Right. We don’t eat while wearing white. We don’t wear it outside. We don’t use markers and we don’t color on our white hoodie. Got it?
Me: (zips it up) There you go.
Gamma: Awesome! I’m going upstairs to use my new markers!
Husband: Get back here.
(Scene opens in cluttered dining room, angry industrial playing in background)
Me: (drinks coffee, watches wee hand carefully reach over the table edge, slide hair brush over edge and quietly disappears. Looks under table)
Delta: (squatting, pulls individual hairs out of brush, puts on head, pats in place)
Me: (watches for several minutes) This is what we’re doing?
Delta: (looks over, gives brilliant grin, goes back to putting loose hairs on his head)
Me: I’m not sure if I should be impressed you’ve figured out that’s where hair comes from or worried you think you can put it back.