By ANGEL KANE
As I lay across the kitchen floor Sunday night, surrounded by bubble wrap, duck tape, a pulley and wig, my husband walked in,
“Well, this looks like another fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”
And honestly, if at that moment my fingers had not been super-glued together, I would have exhibited some rather rude behavior. Instead (due to circumstances beyond my control), I took the high road.
“Can you pleeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaase help me build this life size Laura Ingalls doll. It’s due tomorrow. And then I still have to help Madison build a pulley for her science project.”
“Why do you always wait until the last minute? And that doll doesn’t look life size, unless it’s a pigmy. You know, what you should have done is…”
And right about then, I remembered that although my fingers were super-glued together, my lips were not.
What followed was an ugly exchange regarding pigmies, pulleys and parental involvement, resulting in my husband opting not to further participate.
Alone once again, I got back to work.
Three hours later, my vertically challenged Laura figure was complete.
“Is a pigmy someone with a huge head?” my middle daughter inquired, “because her head is gigantic.”
“Her head isn’t big,” noted my eldest, “it’s just that her legs are short stubs which makes her head look enormous.”
What followed was an ugly exchange regarding pigmies, pulleys and privileged children, resulting in my girls opting not to further participate.
Alone one again, I got back to work.
Two hours later, a rather impressive pulley system had been built.
Right about that time, my dear husband reappeared – obviously no longer smarting from my super-glue induced tirade.
“You need to use that pulley to hoist up Pigmy Laura. That is, if you can get that rope over her massive head.”
As expected – – – what followed was an ugly exchange regarding pigmies, pulleys and my ever increasing need for professional treatment.