I Neezin'

Last week, I was driving Matilda home from a school activity and suddenly, without warning, her allergies kicked in and there was a rapid fire sneezing fit. Sixteen sneezes in a row. I called Guinness and we need six more for the world record.

Gertrude, not wanting to be left out in the expulsion of bodily fluids, decided to sneeze as well. “Achoo,” says the little voice in the back seat.

“No sneezing,” I say.

“Achoo,” answers the tiny, cute voice.

“Oh jeez,” says the bitter, uber-cool sister.

“Don’t deny her the game of no sneezing,” I say.

“Achoo,” says the tiny voice.

“I can be cute too, I just choose not to be,” says the now blasé big sister.

Now, whenever I want to get one to say “Achoo” and the other to say, “Shut up!” I just say, “No sneezing.” (there were more instances of the word “say” on that sentence than in all of the Michael Jackson/Paul McCartney crapfest, “Say Say Say”.)

Right now there’s a little bitterness in the house, stemming from Matilda’s age and Gertrude’s need for attention. It’s hard to explain why it’s cute when a two year old comes running into the room naked declaring that she is a monkey and simply disturbing when an eight year old does the same thing.

And wholly different when it’s an adult female. But we won’t go there.