We are zebras
I turn the key and enter the house, as I open the door, I see Lola pass by-- my brother’s black dog--looking like a zebra, she’s covered in white stripes painted on with something that looks like White Out. I look up, raising my line of sight by a millimeter and see my little daughter on all fours in shorts and with her body painted with something that looks black permanent marker. She looks at me and says: "We’re zebras.”
What a shock, my life keeps getting more surreal, how lucky I am, what else will I find inside, I don’t want to see.
It all started on Monday this week, as you know--since I’ve been telling you about it--, we have been working on the launch of the new Penguin Bag website.
My work buddy and I have been giving our all side by side. I have a work buddy who is the best and we’re gonna make her blush a little here, she is hard-working, she has resolve, she’s kind, friendly, top notch at her job, everything you could ask for in a work buddy.
Well there we were, giving our all all of us together and, since Honey was in California this week, I had to ask my brother to stay with the kids because I was going to get home late.
So there I left him the house keys, told him to pick them up at the bus stop, and that dinner was in the refrigerator, so he could prepare it easily and then I’d be home.
And so, I could keep working at ease with my work buddy without having to worry.
Honey sends me a whatsapp, and I lose track of what I was doing, it really bothers me when people send me whatsapps at work.
Some other day I’ll tell you about the 3 whatsapp groups that I have with mothers from each one of my children’s classes, with standard questions like: tomorrow what do they have to wear, a polo shirt or a long-sleeve shirt?, and a 45 minute debate where they all opine as if this was post your opinion or die.
I have them permanently muted. From time to time, just so they don’t believe that I have social problems, I send a neutral smiley face, like a little green Martian, or clapping hands, they love that. If I want to know if they have to wear a polo shirt or a button-down shirt, I look it up in the school’s Parents’ Guide Book, which is exactly why they gave it out.
And what about the Dads and their children’s football chat. They are all mega coaches, making comments not even Guardiola would come up with, they live it with such fervor, and the poor 5 year old children who can’t even run with their cleets on, do what they can. And they spend their Saturday afternoon recalling the best plays of the game in the morning.
Silence, eveybody keep quiet!
Whatsapp from Honey: are you sure they’ll be alright?
Me: Who, him or the children?
Honey: The children. It’s just that he has no experience
Holy cow, the next time I’ll ask for his résumé, for God’s sake all that’s involved is him taking care of his nieces and nephew, not building a rocket ship. But of course, in the end I'm going to have to agree with Honey, because how in the world am I going to remove the permanent marker the girl has all over the place, she even painted a snout on.
So anyhow, since my work buddy and I are fierce and we're done, we’re going home. First we have a coke and chat, and after a while, on our way home we go, there are children waiting.
So here I am, opening the door, watching the "zebras" pass by, and I wonder, what are the other three doing? I include my brother in that heading.
I walk down the hallway and I find bags of French fries from Burger King and a box of pizza, I really do not understand this fixation my kids have with ordering delivery when I'm not on top of everything. I hope they’ve at least done it with my brother's account.
I shout out to call my eldest son and he tells me he's in his room, and when I walk in, there he is with three of his neighborhood friends playing on the PlaySation on a Thursday, eating pizza on the bed…What is this? Where is your sister? "In the kitchen".
A feeling of pressure builds up on the back of my neck, that climbs up and down my back and I can’t breathe. The aspiring Masterchef with the kitchen all to herself, I don’t even want to think about it.
I enter and she greets me effusively, “Hi Mommyyyy! I'm baking a cake.
I can see that, flour on the floor, flour on the countertops, all over the place, mixed with egg whites in some places which is dripping down the kitchen cabinet doors, I want to die.
And I wonder, where on Earth is this man??
I turn around and the "zebras" are doing whatcomes naturally to them, they’re eating out of the dog’s bowl, my daughter in particular is drinking the water, ugggghhh!
Just what are you doing?
We are zebras, she says. – My gosh, the poor girl is stuck in charcter, it must be the effect of the permanent marker or of the water, go figure.
And then I start I call my brother like crazy, who responds from the living room, and says quietly, I’m heeeerrrrre.
I go over there and I say, explain yourself, just what exactly is going on here?
This is me letting the children express their creativity, because you raise them as if they needed to be neutered and you don’t let them do anything.
Yeah right, ha!, watching 3 episodes in a row of Game of Thrones on your iPad is now known as giving kids freedom. The next time, I will listen to Honey, who is very wise, and find someone with experience.