Once hugs were received and their baggage brought in, the kids made their way to their “new” bedrooms. The boy said, “Oh, you moved my furniture too…” and then sat down on his bed. “How do you like your new sheets?” I asked. “I like them, but you shouldn’t have placed them on my bed.” He said. Looking at him oddly I replied, “Well where do you suggest I put them then?” “No, Mom, it only because since I was little and had that allergic reaction to “never washed clothing”. I have a definite fear of materials that haven’t been washed touching my skin”. Looking pointedly at the clothing basket sitting beside his bed, which happened to contain his other freshly washed bed linens, I asked, “I see you pulled the blanket out of the basket and laid it on the bed”. “Yess?” He replied. “Doesn’t it stand to reason I would have washed the sheets and blankets together?” Looking back at the basket and then back to his bed, then to me he said “Ohhh…” “Bay it was flame retardant pajamas that got you last time. As your mother, you should know I always wash your stuff before giving them to you”. Lying back onto the bed he said, “Very good, thank you mom”.
In the meantime, the doll entered her almost finished bedroom and I met her there “Why did you pick the color of cement for your walls?” I asked. “They are not…” She rebutted. “They look cementish…” I countered. “Well, mom they don’t look like that to me…” She said looking around. “When can I begin painting this last wall?” She asked. “As soon as you change your, clothes”. Almost immediately she changed her shirt. “What about your pants doll?” “What these are comfortable”. She explained. “Doll, if you spill paint on them then they’re ruined.” Looking down at her pants she paused before fishing out some old pajama bottoms. A short time later she was painting the wall while crazy loud music emanated from her room.
Leaning into my husband’s chest I laughed and said, I’m glad you’re all home again…well except for that loud crappy music, anyway. The doll who happened to be standing near her doorway shouted, “Hey, that happens to be good music, mom!” Which I quickly retorted, “Sure, so long as you like loud crappy music”.