Dear Big Brother, I’d sleep light
How kind of you to teach your baby brother, The Cheerful Little Cricket, my cell number. Can I just say…what were you thinking?!
Oh, I’m sure it was a hoot at the time, practicing those drills with him, turning Mommy’s number into a chant he’d remember and rewarding his lisping attempts with candy. And I’ll admit that it was kinda funny when he’d call me upstairs–from the house phone–and express utter astonishment when I’d say, “You. Hang up the phone.” Not having gotten the memo about caller ID and all, I could really bamboozle him one floor down in his tiny blue jeans.
“How’d you know it was me?” he’d say, as I’d snicker into my coffee cup, all the while thinking about ways to get you back once you have kids.
Anyhoo. The hooting’s dying down. On my end, at least, after two solid days of multiple incoming calls on my BOP (Bright Orange Phone) down at the coffee shop. If it were matters of national security, say, or personal injuries that involved blood, broken limbs or interesting lumps, that’d be one thing. But it’s a whole ‘other thingamajig when the questions go like this:
“Can I have a cookie in my lunch?” and, “Can I eat a whoopie pie when I get home from school?” and, “Can I have a cookie in my lunch?” and this, “Can I wear my Sunday clothes to school?” and then back to this one, “Can I have a whoopie pie…?”
Then he follows up that little dog and pony show with this: “I won’t get jelly on my shirt!” All of that as I’m standing by the urn labeled “Jamaican Me Crazy” at Main Street, cup still empty, and I’m looking at the label, going, “Uh-huh.”
Lucky for you, buckaroo, I had to laugh, finally, and nearly forgave you for doing that even though undergoing the second Spanish Inquisition was a real impediment to the writing of my (hopefully) award-winning column. You know, the little old piece that’s due by deadline that will one day (hopefully) provide a nice inheritance for you and your brothers?
Also lucky for you, it’s still a day of grace. However. I do know where you live (ahem), I still cook your food and (for now) still wash your underwear. So I’d sleep light if I were you and I’d be a little nervous about leaving your own children (my grandchildren) at Nana’s house. ‘Cause you never know what all she’ll teach your little crickets. Just sayin’.
A kiss, a peck and a hug around the neck (with just a couple wicked chuckles),
Mom