Backing off some. Sissy's mind is blitzed. She's been pacing about, idle, staring into space, completely oblivious to her flat affect and her dulled senses. Like spending time with a snake after it's consumed a large meal and is in a digestion-induced hibernation of sorts.
She didn't wake up last night though and I keenly said, "Sissy! I'm so glad you slept through the night!"
She glared at me, unmoving. Then as I moved away to finish preparing breakfast, she thought to toss in a rogue lie, "no I didn't I woke up!" and she stood there, mouth hanging open, tongue hanging out, intense eyes on my shoulder (because I had looked away).
"Oh, but you didn't dear. Starting the day with a lie is a lousy way to start, don't you think?" I said to the pancake batter.
"MMMmmmmm" she grunted. (Really, she could out do Herman Munster with that groan)
I hugged her in response.
"Are you making pancakes?" she inquired of the pancake box on the counter and my hand, stirring the batter in the bowl.
"Nope. Pickled pears." I replied.
"MMMmmm!!!!" she grunted again.
At that moment, as if on cue, Wonder Girl skipped into the kitchen and from across the room shouted with glee, "Yippee! Mom's making pancakes!"
"MMMMMMMMM!!!" grunted the increasingly irritated Sissy.
Undaunted, Wonder Girl patiently explained to her sister, "See Sissy? The box says it right there. Pan-cakes. That spells PANCAKES! OOO! and mom put bananas in it!!!!" as she noticed the discarded peels.
"MMMMM" (hey, if we record Sissy's grunts and add some techno sounds, it could be a new rap song.)
"Sissy dear," I cooed, as I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. "I think you've forgotten to do something to your body. Check your morning routine chart for hints." She sulked off, shuffling her feet hard enough to carve grooves in the linoleum. Her hair was a tangled nest.
I was flipping the pancakes when Sissy returned, mastering her zombie walk and catatonic glare. Her hair was barely brushed on both sides of her head, the headband pushing her bangs up in gravity-defying, Alfalfa-defeating, hair-taffy-couldn't-possibly-replicate-this, spikes. The back still a nest. I stifled a laugh. "Sissy," I cooed again as I spoke to the fresh batter I was pouring, "remember, you need to use a mirror when you brush."
"UH!!!! I DID!!!!" she wailed. Then, in her classic lie faux-pas, overplaying her hand, "I even wetted it down but it still pops up!"
I spun her around slowly, eying her hair very carefully like I was doing an inspection for microscopic parasites. When she made a complete revolution, my quizzical expression feigning ignorance, "But gosh dear, it's so... DRY." I straightened up and said clearly, "Use the mirror. Thank you." and I gave her a gentle nudge and returned to flipping the cooked batter.
"MMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" she stomped.
"Oh wait! I almost forgot!" I called to her. She sulked back. I hugged her. "OK, now you can go do you hair."
"But, but!!!! I ..." and she was about to lie that she'd already done it but the smile on my face said nope. not going there and she stomped off again. I don't believe her knuckles could have dragged any lower without scraping the floor.
She returned as I was plating their breakfast. This time it was evident that she'd actually done what I requested. "HOORAY! Your hair looks so pretty! Great effort!" *hug and a high five*
After breakfast I walked into the living room and noticed that Sissy had not opened her curtains. Again. After several requests. "Sissy?" she stomped over to me. I said nothing. I just patted the heck out of her curtains while looking at her. "Forget something?"
I returned to the kitchen to clear up some and she sulked to the counter. "ididit" she mumbled to her tummy.
"Oh good!" I cheered. "Sissy? How many days a week do you need to open those curtains after you wake up?"
"I'm sorry. What number was that?"
"everyday" she told the floor.
"Oh good, I'm so glad you remember!" Then I leaned in real close. "Do that please. WITHOUT being asked." *hug*
After that, I thought I'd back off. Sissy clearly wasn't in the mood. Though the day is young so I still have time to annoy her with more affection, touching and time spent with mom. I'm betting she'll Herman Munster, Frankenstein and Zombie through it all.
She's such an articulate child; such eloquence, beautiful prose, astounding alliteration, she'll out do Harper Lee for sure. Call Pulitzer and let them know I have a brilliant, budding author living in my house!