Sunday, August 7, 2011

The Care and Feeding of Monsters

You know how you can get different colored tab things to put over your keys so you don't try to open your house with the mail key?  I have ones shaped like monsters. 

Big surprise, I know.  They're rubbery and cute and have little flailing arms that wave at me every time I walk with them.  Best investment I ever made because they make me smile every time I see them.  Cute monster keys never get old.  If you ever make this same investment, here's a tip:  Don't try to get your keys out of your purse via a monster arm.  The monsters don't grip back.  I ripped the arm off my sea monster that's over the key we use to get into the swimming pool at the apt. complex.  I almost cried. 

Alison saw the extra arm in my purse when she was digging through it to find my phone and her eyes got all huge and she immediately ran for the tape.  It didn't work, but it entertained her long enough for me to make a phone call in peace.  Something that never happens because she can sense whenever I'm on the phone and that's when she'll jump off her bed and break a leg or set the kitchen on fire.  Just to get my attention back where it belongs.  ON HER.  At all times. 

Since she couldn't surgically attach the arm she resorted to the next best thing: hiding it in places where I would find it.  Which involved me standing in our small kitchen trying to cook dinner while she hid behind my back, giggling while I pretended to be surprised when a green monster arm appeared under the oven mitts.  Then she stands in front of me with her arms behind her back, giggling, and says, "Mom, I ate it."

ME: "Uh, oh, a monster's going to grow in your belly now.  Then it will be all grown and it will crawl out of your mouth and then we'll have to feed it and take care of it."

ALISON: Nu, uh. I know where it will come from.  Your butt.  Because that's where babies come from.  I know this.

ME:  Yes, you are correct.  That is exactly where babies come from.  SO How are we going to take care of our new monster, then?

ALISON: Well, we'd have to sell it. 

ME: How much will we sell it for?  A hundred bucks?

ALISON: No.  No one will buy it for that.

ME:  How about five?

ALISON:  Okay.  Or six.

ME: And until we sell it, what will it eat?

ALISON: Everything.  It eats meat.  And mom, HUMANS ARE MEAT.  (I don't know why she felt the need to clarify this with me considering I was the one who told her this when she was five and she asked me what lions ate.  I said they eat meat.  She got all quiet, then asked if humans were meat.  I would have paid a million dollars to see what was going through her brain that led her to that deduction.  Was it a mixture of cartoons plus Animal Planet?  I didn't want to traumatize her, but at the same time I didn't want to lie to her.  So I told her that yes, humans are meat.  Again she got quiet, then laughed and said, "Well I'm made out of soup."  PROBLEM SOLVED.)

ME: Uh, oh.  We'll have to raise him to be a vegetarian.  Where will he sleep?

ALSION: In your bed.

ME: Why my bed?  Why not your bed?

ALISON:  Because then he'd have more room.  And I think he snores. 

ME: Oh, so you're going to stick me with the snoring monster.  Thanks a lot.  I'm making him a bed on the floor.  What games do monsters like to play?

ALISON: I don't know.  We're not going to have a monster.  CODE: I'm done.  You're ridiculous, mother. 

I prefer it much better in code because I assume in a few years she will be saying it flat out and refuse to answer my silly questions.  But it was good entertainment while I cooked.

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