Warning: absurdity, sarcasm, The Twilight Zone. Plus, I’m not really a parent. This charming little monster does, however, look a bit like me as a child. Proceed at your own risk.
Ever since the last The Twilight Zone marathon, where we saw that one particular episode (about a kid named Anthony in Peaksville, Ohio), Lucinda has been trying her darnedest to wish me out of existence.
She is deeply disappointed that it hasn’t worked yet, and I’m afraid I have quite run out of ways to keep her from succumbing to those awfully nasty tantrums. Time-outs have stopped working and a spanking just isn’t an option in this day and age.
Spankings take us back to the Dark Ages of parenting. Everyone says so. Plus, Lucinda might file a complaint with Possessed Child Protective Services. I’m certain PCPS wouldn’t give me time to clean the house before they arrived. They do that, you know—just pop up on your doorstep before you can vacuum. I can’t afford a housekeeper, so the thought horrifies me.
Besides, if they took my semi-sweet little Lucy away, I am certain she would just do the same thing to some poor unsuspecting foster parent. When I put her in time-out, she just stands there, with her nose in (and out of) the corner as her head spins, gurgling up a storm. If she isn’t speaking in tongues and talking about Gozer the Destroyer, she’s saying the same old thing, over and over.
“Mommy isn’t real. Mommy isn’t real. Mommy isn’t real.”
It’s downright depressing. I’m terrified to think about what will happen when puberty hits.