Sunny had a fever and a seal-bark cough Saturday, and I’m at home today with the same thing—surprise, surprise. When you’re a parent, you don’t come down with viruses, they climb up to get you.
But I can’t pin my truly righteous sore throat on her.
I’m blaming the opera . . .
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It all started Sunday when Janie said, in a suitably indignant tone, that she didn’t whine.
You don’t say these things in front of your mother or your aunt, especially when they’re us and especially in a car.
I reminded her of the Strawberry Festival last year, when she belted out a prodigious whine over a raffle basket. “I had to sing you out of it,” I said. “Remember?”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.”
We explained to my SIL that I kept asking Janie to whine with feeling and higher and lower and less pitchy, please, until we were both laughing and doing off-key, overblown aria bits at each other and the woman behind us in line was in hysterics.*
This explanation led, as these things do, to Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd . . .
. . . and eventually, to a spontaneous, ad liberetted production, which my SIL and I agreed was not set to Ride of the Valkyries, but to Kill the Wabbit. More or less.
Here’s a selection from our performance, omitting most of the giggles and snorts:
Janie: Mom, can I HAVE that?
Me: No, you CA-an’t.
Janie: But I WANT it—I really NEED it!
Me: Use your ALLOWance
Janie: I don’t GET one.
Me: You don’t do CHORES and I’m not made of MONey.
SIL: Clean up your ROO-oom?
Janie: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO(breath)OOOOOOOOO! Do I HAVE to?
Me: Yes, you HAVE to.
Janie: But Mooooom!
Me: Get GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Ing.
Janie: I don’t WANT to, why do I HAVE to?
Me: Because I SAID so—I’m the MOMmy . . .
Act II (in a store with nervous clerk):
Me: Don’t TOUCH that—keep your hands to yourSELLLF!
Janie: Ooooooooooo!! Look at this!
Me: Use your EY-ES and not your FINGers!
Shopkeep/SIL: You break it you bought it. You break it you BOUGHT it.
Janie: It’s oKAY, I’ll be CAREful. OOPS!
(Opera momentarily delayed because of laughter and clapping)
Grande Finale, all on stage:
Janie: Mooom can I have—
Me: No!
Janie: But Moooooom!
Me: I don’t want to heeeeeeeeaaaaar iiiiiiiiit.
Recitative:
SIL: You know, Janie, y’all should so do this for your next school musical.
Janie: Yeah!
Me (burying face in hands): I am NOT writing an opera for the school.
Sunny: But MOMeee!
(Fourth wall obliterated by howls and ovations from the cast, scaring serious hell out of the car one lane over)
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There’s been talk of tackling Rabbit of Seville once I recover.
I’m not sure I’m planning to recover . . .
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*I jettisoned the remnants of my dignity two months after Janie was born. Surprised it took me that long—no, wait, maternity leave.
Earful of Cider 
