We've been back on an HGTV kick these days, watching a lot of home-remodeling shows and dreaming about what we might do, could do, someday, maybe, etc.
Lola was half-watching as she walked into the living room, coming to ask me something I've since forgotten.
"Why'd they do that?" she asked, after taking in a few seconds of the television show.
"They wanted a nicer table," I responded.
"Why didn't they just buy a new one?"
"Well, sometimes, when you redo something or make something completely new from scratch, then you can make it exactly the way you want."
I got a little sentimental and tapped her on the tip of her nose. "Just like you. Your dad and I knew we wanted the perfect little girl so we made you exactly how we wanted you."
She half-rolled her eyes and shook her head with a smug little laugh. "No, you didn't. God made me."
A few weeks ago, I was doing my normal old morning cleaning when I found an iPad nestled underneath a certain 7-year-old's pillow. I knew it was odd the night before, when Ray and I went to bed, that there was only one charging on the shelf. But this was a first -- Lola had never snuck one into her bed before (that I knew of), and judging by its absolutely dead battery, I now understood why that morning's routine was filled with a lot more crabbiness than usual.
But she was already at school. I made a mental note to talk to her about it that afternoon, but the rush of life distracted me. And it wasn't until we were having dinner that night that I remembered.
"Oh, Lola," I remembered, grinning knowingly, "I found a certain something in your bed this morning and it is not OK."
Ray had been made aware of it earlier that day and he, thankfully, backed me up, "Yeah, Lola, it's not OK to hide things in bed, OK?"
Now, granted, our kids have more stuff than they really need, so no matter how many times you try to clean up their beds, there can always be whole-knows-what hiding under all of the pillows and stuffed animals. I've found water bottles, drawings, bracelets, books, games, cards, all sorts of things. But this was the first time for an iPad.
Lola kind of watched us closely, nodding as if she was understanding.
I didn't quite buy that she was understanding us, "What do you think we found in your bed?"
"I dunno. The scissors?"
"No, not the sciss- WAIT! There are scissors in your bed?" Suddenly, the hidden iPad seemed a little less important. I mean, I've found plastic tape dispensers hidden under her covers -- she likes to tape things to the wall when no one is watching -- but the idea of sharp pointy metal things seemed a little unnecessary -- and unsafe.
"No, there aren't scissors in your bed?"
Deadpan, she said that no, she didn't have scissors in her bed.
It just so happened we weren't at home during this conversation and Ray and I exchanged a few looks of confusion, maybe even a small one of worry, as we considered just why the kid would be sneaking scissors into bed.
Two hours or so later, as we tucked the girls into bed, I remembered that we never really did talk to Lola about the iPad, "Oh, so no more iPads in bed," I said simply.
She smiled, pretending to pout, "Oh come on!" But she quickly agreed.
I turned to leave but then spun back quickly, remembering to actually check the beds for scissors.
There were none.
"No scissors right?" I asked, for what must have been the hundredth time.
She just giggled and laughed, "No, I was teasing before."
I didn't understand the joke. I still don't.
But I do know that all four pairs of scissors were, in fact, accounted for that evening.
Parenthood is exhausting.