Sunday, March 6, 2011
Real Estate Wars at Tapper's House!
I never realized that I was sitting on a prime piece of real estate.
At night time our family always gathers to read scriptures and pray together.
This is (usually) a special time because it (usually) goes pretty well.
Just last night the Dancer was listening to the verses and asked in her most intrigued voice, "Were they wicked or righteous?" Between the meltdowns I know they are learning.
But one thing gets in the way of a peaceful, spiritual moment-
Mama's lap. It is a coveted spot.
And just like beachfront property, there's never enough of it.
The Dancer usually gets there first. She gracefully curls herself into me and settles in for some gentle cuddles.
Then the Cowgirl notices that her prized plot is in danger.
She usually plops herself down on top of both of us. Less gracefully.
There ensues indignant cries from the Dancer and a repressed "Ooumph!" from mama.
I try to reposition my posterity to one leg each without interrupting the story we are listening to.
Then the poking commences.
Then the growling.
And the whining.
And they both entwine me with hugs, fighting over their favorite ribs while pinching all competing arms.
Then the Artist says, "Girls you are not being reverent or paying attention."
He is totally talking about them.
Not me. Because I am trying to divert them from starting wars worse than the ones we are reading about.
Tonight I had to banish the Cowgirl to the bed with the promise that I would snuggle her next.
She promptly put her head down and began weeping.
Then the Dancer climbed down from my lap and started wiping her sister's tears with the utmost care. She cradled her sisters head and whispered, "It's okay."
Then the hugs got less gentle and then the giggling began.
Cue the Artist: Girls... You're not paying attention.
He fights through a few more verses, his steady voice barely surfacing over their laughter and squeals.
At last he closes the book with a bemused look. We know when we're beat.
But then ----
Instant cries of consternation.
"Why'd you stop? We want more! We were listening!"
Heaven help us.