The Reward of Lying?

this afternoon, i eagerly swept up my baby, danced a bit and was moved enough to even visit the teenager's room.  when these moments come, i pounce upon them and they do not slip away easily - for at 4:30 in the afternoon, when i am on my last rung of patience, these moments are fleeting.

knock-knock-knock

i am greeted by a peering eye around the door as he slowly opens it up to the designated crack.  "ya," he says.  i invite myself into the room - glowing lights blink in rhythm on the floor, the music is loud and he looks at me skeptically. "what are you doing?" i inquire. "relaxing," came the response.  he jumps upon his bed - the lounge chair and ottoman sitting upon the bed slats and the mattress draped over - making a very raised bed.

my eyes peruse the room.  "you were dancing." "relaxing," again came the response.  he demonstrates laying upon his bed.  "dancing." "no, relaxing. like this," he demonstrates again.

it's a minor mistruth - but considering the time, and my patience, i slowly turn, close the door and walk upstairs.  no more words.

moments later, the teenager walks upstairs. "mom, what are we having for dinner?"  "lobster."  "lobster? really? since when do we have lobster?" no words.

the teenager begins to get hungry and inquires about the lobster dinner. "yep, we're having lobster tonight. it's in the oven" an examination proves that there is no lobster in the oven.  no words. he leaves.

I feed the baby. i get out 'fixings' to eat when others are hungry.  changing the baby into pajamas, the teenager appears. "mom, as a way of apolo-i-gi-zation, i would like to babysit sidney tonight while you go out to the coffee shop and relax.

thanks for listening