My stomach was feeling a little iffy this morning. No time to deal with it, though. I had to get the kids to school.
After getting the 10-year-old to the bus, I went back for the 12-year-old and headed to school.
I turned to her and said, “I may need to use your backpack.”
“Why?” she replied.
Me: “I’m feeling a little puky.”
She gave me a blank stare. Then she looked down at the plastic grocery bag containing my lunch.
Me: “Don’t even look at that. It’s my lunch,” I warned.
Her: “Why would you puke in my backpack?”
Me: “It holds more volume. Plus, you can wash your backpack. I can’t wash my bag.”
Her: “I…you can’t wash my binder. It has all my papers in it.”
Me: “You can recycle them.”
Her: “But…I need them.”
Me: “Need?”
Her: “Yes.”
Me: “Need?”
Her: “If you want me to turn them in, yes.”
Me: “Need?? You know, if you say the word ‘need’ enough, it loses all meaning. Need. Need. Need.”
Her: “The same thing is true with ‘light.’ Light. Light. Light.”
Me: “Neeeeed.”
Her: “Light. Light. Light.”
Me: “Neeeeeeed.”
Her: “Light. Light. Light.”
Me: “Neeeeeeed.”
Her: “Light. Light. Light.”
Me: “Neeeeeeed.”
This literally went on for about 5 minutes, until we got the school.
Her: “Light. Light. Light.”
Me: “Neeeeeeed. Seriously, though. I need your backpack.”
Her: “I’m outta here.”
There’s no way she’s not really mine.
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