I turned slowly, with a little trepidation in my voice and said “Yes”, knowing that something was about to hit.
My little bugger, um bruiser had something to say, he shook his finger, bounced on one foot and bellowed “I’m not going to school today!” with as much piss and vinegar as a WWF wrestler.
“Oh really? Why?” I replied trying to not sound annoyed at this new wrench thrown in the already skewed morning routine.
As he bounced on his other foot, Matthew said in a sheepish voice “Because Angelina is gunna marry Timouthy, and I want to marry Angelina”.
Pissed off with now Angelina, and Matthew, because they are four, and clearly, Angelina has no idea what’s she’s missing I replied: “Well, does Angelina know that you want to marry her?”
“Yeah, I asked her, but she told me she was going to marry Timouthy”, the reply from Matthew was laced with such distaste for Timothy I got a little worried that he might have a throw down when, actually if we ever got to school.
“Well, Matthew, you don’t have to worry about who you’re going marry now, you have some time to decide.” I replied in an authoritative voice, well authoritative for me.
He stormed away, and I was pleased with myself that I sailed past another mommy-land mine.
TWO DAYS LATER.
Another harried morning (what else is new) I’m in my car, haphazardly applying make-up at each light (don’t judge) as I drove Matthew to school; from the stern of the car I hear Matthew scream over Adele’s “Rumor has it” (he was holding my phone in his hand jamming to music):
“Mommy! Mommy! MOM! Timouthy doesn’t want to marry Angelina anymore; she said she’ll marry me.”
“Oh really? So you’re going to get married to Angelina now” I said with a little distaste in my mouth as if “My son is not second best, he’s THE best.”
“I’m marrying Eva.”
“Oh really?”, “Does Eva know you are marrying her?”
“Yep!” he replied with a Fonzie like coolness.
“Great, when’s the wedding?”
“When we want it to be”, he replied so casually.
Well, I hope it’s not till he’s 30 I said in my head.
Than it dawned on me, and I threw out: “Wait, what happened to Angelina? You don’t want to marry her? She said she’ll marry you now.”
“She’s my Ex now.”
Perplexed, as in how the hell does a four year old know what the hell an EX is. I was almost speechless.
“Your Ex? What’s an Ex Matthew?“ I said inquisitively.
“Ummm, I dunno, ummmm someone that’s locked in your brain and breaks your insides into little tiny pieces.”
Huh? What? Really? Stumped again. The conversation ended.
Cause that my friends broke my insides into tiny little pieces. At four? Angelina that little hussy is locked in his brain? Farts and poopies should be locked in his brain at four.
But I sense what the real problem is, Matthew is really a lover not a fighter, that there will be a lot of Angelina’s, that his insides may be broken into tiny little pieces more than once, and he has to stop listening to my music. NOW.