It was about 2 hours into summer vacation before The Daughters had their first fight. Wait. That's not entirely correct; it was about 20 minutes. We came home from school on the last day and almost immediately, the house was ringing with the yells and screams of sisterly angst.
To be honest, I was in the bathroom washing the
grime from an entire day outside off my face and wondering if 4:30 in the afternoon was close enough for 5:00 margaritas. (PS - it's always close enough on the last day of school!) The Daughters, who had played hard on their last day of school had settled in to their respective spots in the living room and had turned on the TV with nothing on their little minds but vegging out. And, active lifestyle be darned, I just didn't care. We were hot and tired and it was good to just enter a TV coma.
The mascara wasn't even un-glopped from the corner of my eyes, when I heard Daughter 1 say, "You-uh!" (yes, two syllables -- emphasis on the second syllable), "Are SO stupid!"
And Daughter fired back with those international fighting words made infamous by PeeWee Herman, "I know you are, but what am I?"
That, my friends, was the start of The First Fight of Summer.
Typically, I'd stay hidden until the screaming stopped or the bleeding started and let the two of them learn to sort it out. Makes sense, huh? It was a valuable life skill they needed, right? Just agree with me, OK?
But, their fighting went on and on and got louder and louder. Even I couldn't stay hidden this long. From the sounds of things, I was certain that the police were just minutes away from knocking on our door. But, if this were any indication of how our summer was going, I would gladly let them run me into the slammer so I could get a few hours (or days, if I gave them the wrong number for The Dad) of peace and quiet.
Finally, I got between them. I explained to them that there was nothing in their little lives that was worth getting this upset about. To which, Daughter 1 explained to me that "Ya-huh!" there was!
"Daughter 2 said that Taylor Swift was totally inappropriate!" Daughter 1 screetched.
"I said that," Daughter 2 explained through gritted teeth, "Because she IS!"
This was the start of an "Is Not / Is Too" fight that causes parents everywhere to pull out their own hair and eat tequila-soaked Cheerios in the morning.
"OK! OK!" I screamed, lowering myself to their mode of communication. "Let's let Daughter 2 explain why she thinks Taylor Swift is inappropriate."
Daughter 2 then snatched the remote from Daughter 1's hands and rewound the TV back to Taylor Swift's video. Then, with Taylor Swift cradeling her guitar, Daughter 2 paused the TV and dramatically threw her arm in front of the screen and declared, "SEE!??!"
To which Daughter 1 threw up her arms in frustration and said - yet again, "Nanhuh!"
And honestly, I didn't see. I had many questions: Is it something she said? Is Taylor's hair wrong? Are her roots showing? Do her fingers form some sort of naughty, first-grade sign?
"Gah, Momma!" Daughter 2 sighed in exasperation, "LOOK!" and then she pointed to could only be considered "cleavage" - as much as Taylor could have any kind of cleavage, of course. "Are you telling me that BOOB CRACK is appropriate??"
Daughter 1 began laughing hysterically. I'll admit it: I smirked a little. These did nothing to further Daughter 2's cause.
"Oh, C'mon!" Daughter 2 protested, "There's no reason why anyone should show her Boob Crack on TV!" Fine. She got me there.
I composed myself enough to agree. Daughter 2 was right: Boob Crack has no place on TV. While the term Boob Crack was nothing short of hysterical, I was so impressed with her conservative attitude toward fashion. The Dad would be so proud, not to mention relieved. I put my arm around her to let her know that, for this fight and this fight only, I was on her well-covered, totally appropriate side.
"Besides," Daughter 2 continued while smiling up at me, "When you show your Boob Crack, it's just the same as bragging. And until I get some Boob Crack of my own, I don't want to see anyone else's!"
We can only hope that within the next four years, she learns to just say no to crack...
