Things in Your Mind Continued

The next morning was an unpleasant one.  Apparently, we were getting new neighbors and Dad and Mother were trying to decide which kind of cookies would be better to take over to people they didn’t know.  Dad insisted that the peanut butter and dark chocolate chunk cookies would be a great way to “win ‘em over”, but my mother wanted to make them no-bake, no-flour, no-allergy cookies.  She found the recipe online and thought that it would be safer to take something that didn’t contain “horrible allergens”.

Being Saturday, it was the perfect day to meet the newcomers: no school for me, and Mother would only be busy doing laundry.  The only inconvenience was that Dad would be working that evening and wouldn’t be able to say hello to them on this particular occasion.  Good, I thought, now the only one she can fuss at is me.

 “Why do you care what I bake anyways?  It’s not like you’re even going to be there.” I heard my mother squall at my father, “Oh for heaven’s sake, Amy; why must you wear those atrocious pajamas!  Oh, my dear, it’s practically summer.”

I came down in my flannel pajamas that I’d gotten for Christmas last year.  My shirt had a cartoonish snowman on it while my pajama bottoms were a warm-pink color and sprinkled with images of mugs of cocoa, reindeer, and snowflakes.  These details are only important when I mention it was practically May.

“Mom, why do you always have to be such a drama queen, it’s not like there’s a paparazzi of cameras hiding in my closet.” I laughed aloud but then I regretted the phrase I let slip out.

“How dare you disrespect me in such a foul way?” My mother was a drama instructor at the community theater and had actually directed a few productions there; one of the few nice things about her.

“Well, sorry.” I said drawing out the R’s in my statement.

 “Don’t you even; sorry are just words coming from you!”

“If that’s so,” I continued hating my unstoppable mouth all the while, “Then saying that you’re a ‘drama queen’ should be quiet meaningless.”

“Amy, now Amy…” she tried to cut me off.

“Actually, if my very heartfelt sorry didn’t mean anything—”

“…Your heartfelt sorry, excuse me!”

“Then my half meant name shouldn’t have been heard!”  I concluded, snatching up a box of tea from the kitchen to make myself a cup.

Dad sat silently at the dining room table.  He’d learned enough to know that it’s better to let my little battles with my mother boil down before saying anything to either of us.  He sipped at a glass of orange juice and finished the last few bits of egg on his plate.

Mother sighed and offered to make me a scrambled egg.  She scolded me for my mindless mouth but forgave me in the end.  I carried my cup of tea to the table along with my mother’s coffee for recompense for dealing with me so much of the time.

“Darling, guess what we’re going to do today!” The way my mother said it made me sure that I would hate it.

“Drive racecars on the ceiling and paint the walls with gunpowder, I don’t know, Mom.”

“We’re getting new neighbors today and I thought that we might be so nice as to give them a warm welcome.”  She completely ignored my derogatory remark.

“Mom, you told me that yesterday and the day before that.  Probably for half the week you’ve been reminding me.”

“Have I now?  I haven’t been keeping track, so it’s good that you have.” She sipped her coffee thoughtfully.

“Sport, what say you make some of those amazing peanut butter and dark chocolate chunk cookies for our new neighbors?” Dad looked hopefully at me knowing that I would take taste over safety.

“See, I thought we could make this one recipe I found online,” Mother searched through her purse for it.  Mom and online is never a good combination.  Especially when she’s on Facebook posting baby pictures of me.

“Well, looks like you can’t find it!  I think we should go with good ol’ choco-chunk!”  I exclaimed just as Mother picked a white, neatly-folded sheet of paper out of her purse, “er—No, looks like you found it!”  I knew she was going to guilt me into choosing her recipe.  I heard the words in my head before she said anything: It’s healthier, safer, more time-friendly, cheaper, and it would save her a trip to the store.  I knew that I couldn’t persuade her to choose something besides her fancy-schmancy recipe.