Yesterday my husband was sick. Head cold and, um, digestive issues.
Which meant my kids got to spend a little extra time with their favorite parent: La Tele (if I call our television by its French moniker, that makes it a cultural experience, right?). We have a few movies checked out from the library that I’ve been trying to get them to watch. Because this is how it works:
“Mom, put [insert title] on hold, please!”
“Okay.”
Receive title.
“Mom, it’s screentime. We’re going to watch something on Netflix.”
“You realize we only have that movie for a week, right?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Time passes.
“Mom, what happened to that movie?”
“It was due.”
“What?!! NOOOOO!”
Insert general weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.
Doesn’t that sound delightful?
So yesterday I told them they had no choice with their extra time with La Tele: they were going to watch “Despicable Me”. With me. Because by the time of the arsenic hour, that was pretty much self-descriptive.
I rarely watch La Tele with the kids: I don’t sit still real well. Neither do they. That’s a whole lot of wriggling on the couch. But I attempted to sit and enjoy our time together.
Hubby came downstairs later. I was busy throwing things together for dinner for those with stomach issues and tastebud issues. “Did you enjoy the movie? I heard a serious guffaw down there.” “What? Yeah, I guess. Some of it is funny. I was mostly being wooled on by Boo: sometimes I don’t even realize that she’s on my lap – when did she get up there? And for how long? Geez … OH, there was a funny part! There was this little girl, and the cranky old bad guy who adopts her and two other girls, and they’re at a fair, and she sees this unicorn and really wants it, and he blows apart the game to get it for her cause it’s rigged, and she growls, ‘It’s So Fluffy!!!!!’ Yeah, that made me laugh.”
You can laugh along with me right here.
The little girl reminded me of a cross between me and one of my besties: Hannah. After high school I cleaned Hannah’s room, and when I’d move things to the junk pile, she’d tell me: “Nooo! I need this, or I’ll dieeeee!” She may have been right, but we’ll never know.
As for me, I admit it: I have a giant stuffed animal – not a unicorn, but a bunny. My Nana bought an Easter dress for me, and after spending a certain amount at the department store, the bunny was less. There were bunnies ALL over that store, and Nana was determined my brother and I needed one. My mama sacrificed and bought herself a new dress so Matt could get a bunny. Because I have the bunny Nana bought: I watched the clerk put it in the bag and made sure that one stayed with me. As it has: for over two decades.
Some people have body pillows; I have my bunny, and I believe he’s done wonders for keeping my back in alignment at night. Plus, he’s an awesome head prop while reading.
I love the sheer joy of the little girl in the moment. She doesn’t want the unicorn for practical purposes, for personal edification, for social betterment. She wants it and LOVES it because it’s fluffy.
It’s time to find some more fluffy in my life. FLUFFY!