Part 2 Dead or Alive

It’s 6 a.m. and I’m woken by scratching of magpie claws on the roof above my irritated head. My eyes pop open when I suddenly realize I’m the only adult in the house. I storm into the garage intent on protecting our family and grab the BB gun from the top rack of the pegboard. I safely hold it pointed upward and make my way to the back yard in my robe and flip flops. I sneakily peek around the corner of the house, and when I see the swarm of black and white feathers dancing on top of the roof leaving annoying white droppings with every step to the hokey pokey, I raise the barrel and spray BB’s in every direction sending the magpies into a fluttering frenzy.

“Try to wake me up tomorrow,” I say in a raspy voice under my breath, eyeing the small, yet potent, shiny barrel. I walk back into the house feeling like a bit of a feminist, or maybe just an industrial-strength woman.
Determined not to let a flock of mangy, skunk-colored birds ruin the Whiffen family week of fun, I make the kids do their daily jobs, throw several towels in the trunk, then take them to the grocery store where we buy three big blocks of ice. We drive to a park with the biggest hill in Utah County. Judd starts quoting Kung Fu Panda lines in the car. I hear him say, “What are you going to do, big guy, sit on me?” I repeat it and we laugh. He starts to call me “Dad” and then he asks jokingly, “Are you Mom or Dad?”

I say, “Who do you think, silly?” 

He says, “Dad”.
I turn to look at him. “Then you’re Aunt Betty.”
“Well, then I think you’re stupid,” he replies.

My self esteem tanks as I remember earlier that day an email I got with the subject line that read, “Leeann you’re a moron.” Lucky it was a spammer.

As we arrive at the park, we carefully place our towels over the shiny, cold sleds and buzz our way down the hill. One bloody elbow, some torn ankle ligaments, and grass stains so deep not even the oxy-est of oxy cleaners seem threatening later, I decide to turn in my frosted bottom cheeks for a seat on the bench at the top of the hill.

As I watch the boys crash into each other, shards of ice flying in every direction, I overhear Judd say “Clay you’re my best friend, and Mom’s my best friend too.” For a minute I forgive him for not pooping in the potty, and for calling me stupid, because at least on this day, at this time, on the steepest sledding hill in Utah County, I’m my three year-old’s best friend.