If you've ever wondered what a typical day in a Poly household is like, I can't help you out. I have no idea what's typical. But here, for your perusal, are two vignettes illustrating what this somewhat-atypical-for-us weekend has been like so far.
Friday, 8:00 p.m.
Travis texts me to see if I need anything from Trader Joe's, so I call him and suggest that he get something for breakfast. Sienna (age 2) marches in and announces, “I'm ready for bed – Daddy already put my sleeper on.” So I take her upstairs, tuck her in, and attempt to turn out her light, to loud protestations: “Read me a story first!” I remind her that her daddy just read her a LONG story, so if she wants another, it has to be a SHORT story. Finally, after a story and a song and two drinks of water, she's ready to say goodnight.
Then I head back downstairs to take care of a minor domestic disaster scene: earlier in the evening, while I was in the shower – loudly singing “On Top of Spaghetti,” which is Sienna's favorite shower tune – Sienna was running in and out of the shower, dripping water all over the floor. What I didn't realize until too late is that she was also amusing herself by ripping off squares of toilet paper, basically turning the whole roll into soggy papier mache in the process.
So, I'm intent on my little clean-up task, Parker is upstairs taking a shower, and Travis lets himself into the house. This is the sight that greets him in the doorway of the downstairs bathroom: me, on hands and knees, clad in a short leopard-print silk nightie, black fish-net stockings held up by garter straps, and leopard-print heels with big bows at the ankles. Viny, the would-be sex kitten, surrounded by toilet paper carnage, as if I'd clawed the roll to bits myself in a fit of feline caprice.
Parker, Travis, and I convene in the kitchen to discuss what to do about Denali (age 14), who is at a friend's house and will need a ride home. I send Denali a text, letting him know that Travis will be picking him up at 11. Parker, meanwhile, is headed off to a Halloween party with some Burner friends, and says he probably won't be back until morning. “You're welcome to come back tonight – but if you get back much later than midnight, your bed will already be full,” I remind him.
Saturday, 8:00 a.m.
The five of us – Parker (who got home around 1 or 2 in the morning, and slept in his sleeping bag on the living room floor), Travis, Denali, Sienna, and I – are all gathered around the dining room table, eating breakfast. There's orange juice, tea, bacon, eggs (I tried for over-easy, but ended up with what Parker dubbed “white trash” eggs: eggs with no style at all), sliced avocados, and toast. Everyone is in a pretty good mood, although, as usual, Denali grouses about the food: “You didn't tell me the toast was going to be made with inedible bread.” (Inedible, in this case, meaning apricot-pecan bread from the French bakery.)
The conversation ranges all over the map, with Parker and Denali filling us in on their respective parties, and Sienna interrupting everyone periodically: "Hey guys, I need honey too!" or, “Twavis, can I have a piece of YOUR bacon?”
Our convivial little meal concludes thus:
Parker: “You know, I wonder if the Mormon church is going to come to the conclusion that gay people chose their sexual orientation in the pre-existence. That would be consistent with their stance, you know, because the compassion that attends 'didn't have a choice' is not conducive to their ---”
Sienna (interrupting): “Guys, guys! I gotta tell you somepin!”
Me: “What is it?”
Sienna: “In The Three Little Pigs, the little pig jumped into the butter churn to hide, and he rolled down the hill!”
Me (laughing): “Yes, you always think that page is funny.”
Sienna: “No! It's NOT funny! It's hilarious!”
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