Monday, November 16, 2015

Games people play, you take it or you leave it

It's not the fake drinking I mind so much as the fake food.  At least with the fake drinking, when we have to change the pretend diapers, it's just water.  But the fake food comes out the other end as fake poop, and it's this colorful slime that is just gross.

But Josie loves her Baby Alive doll (or she calls it, Alive Baby), so I tolerate it.  And when she ran out of the stupidly expensive diapers that came with the doll, I bought her a box of regular preemie diapers that she could use instead, and that fit just fine.

I refused, however, to buy more packets of the fake food, because it's disgusting.

I was faked out, though, because she was hoarding some.

I was sitting at my desk in the alcove off my bedroom trying to figure out how to get iTunes to automatically search for and import the various music files scattered around my computer.  I ended up figuring it out by accident, and if a gun were held to my head, I couldn't duplicate my efforts, but in the meantime, I was focused on my task while the kids played in their room.  I could hear bits and pieces of their happy chatter.

First it was playing with a sticker book.  Knowing that they tend to deposit stickers on walls and furniture, I was thankful that most of the stuff in their room comes from IKEA, and that I painted their walls with a semi-gloss paint that releases stickers painlessly.

Then I heard Zeke say, "Josie, let's play 'Mamas and Babies.'"

I don't know exactly what this entails, but it sounded innocuous.

A while later, I wandered down the hall to check on them.  When I poked my head into their bedroom, I found Zeke on all fours while Josie stood in front of him, feeding him green goop from a small plastic spoon.

To myself, I said, what the hell??

Out loud, I said, "what on earth are you guys doing?"

"Zeke is the baby," Josie explained. "I'm feeding him."

"Is that the Baby Alive food?"


"Guys, come on. That is gnarly. Don't eat that stuff. It's nasty."

"It's good, Mama!" Zeke insisted.

"Ugh." I responded.  But I figured, whatever.  It's not going to hurt them.

I went back to my computer.

A little while later, Josie came in.  On all fours, panting like a dog.

"Mama, Zeke and I want to play a game with you."

"OK.  What kind of game?"

"A game when me and Zeke are dogs and you are our owner."

I started to laugh.  "You guys are nuts.  OK, how do we play this game?"

"Tell us what to do."  She pointed to an overturned laundry basket.  "That's my kennel.  When you want me to go in it, say, 'kennel.'"

"OK.  Kennel."

She crawled under the laundry basket, and happily curled up on the floor and pretended to sleep.

"Do you want to come out of the kennel?"  I asked after a minute.

"No.  I'm a puppy.  Puppies need naps."

My children are fucking weird.

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