From the book “Fairly Odd Mother: Musings of a Slightly Off Southern Mom.” Written in 2008 when Baby Girl was 14.
The house was quiet. I was in my bedroom; Shannon in hers.
Between us — the kitchen. Who would make the first move? The tension mounted (cue the eerie, whistling theme to “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.”)
I unholstered my phone and dialed my daughter’s cell phone. Twenty-five feet away, from behind the closed bedroom door, she answered.
“Well?” I asked.
“Well?” she answered.
“Are you?”
“I said I would.”
“That was two days ago. I want to know when.”
“I said I would.”
I waited. Still no sign of movement. In the kitchen, only the sounds of crickets and passing tumbleweeds could be heard.
I decided to take action: I went to bed.
In the morning, Shannon and I met at 20 paces in the kitchen
“What’s for breakfast?” she asked.
“No breakfast. Nothing to eat it from.”
She shrugged, rolled up a chocolate-chip Eggo and went to catch her ride to school.
That night I was ready.
“Mom, I need a new outfit for Friday night.”
I shrugged. “No chores, no money.”
“No money?”
“No. Money.”
She moved like a professional dish-slinger. I didn’t even see her draw. In fewer than two minutes, the dishwasher was empty. I smiled and got my purse. We went out for a nice mother-daughter shopping trip.
The standoff at the O-Kazek Corral had ended without bloodshed. This time.
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