I love how at this point in my life, with four children hovering around my every move, they're learning life values from The Brady Bunch and Star Trek.
The baby boomers watched this stuff, and they turned out all right. So, I figure my kids might be okay viewing Marsha Brady and Captain Kirk, but judging from this caption . . . maybe I should rethink my grand idea.
Anyway, The Scribe and The Hippie came home last night, super excited because their teachers LOVED the notes and obviously aren't evil witches since they like reading.
And honestly that was all we talked about. After the kids did their minimal (first-day) homework, I made a snack in the kitchen and the kids went downstairs to watch Star Trek.
We have Netflix, God's gift to mothers. We've learned a lot about cloning, parallel universes, Captain Kirk's new love interests that always die at the end of the episode, Spock's logic etc. .
So, last night, we ate licorice and watched one episode where a
beautiful lady named Nancy is really a changeling. I wasn't shocked when she turned evil and died, especially since Kirk had eyed her previously. If I ever meet that man in person, I hope he won't eye me, that's worse than the kiss of death!
Before she died, "Nancy" turned into a big blue monster at the end. I thought she looked like the Abominable Snowman.
"Nancy," The Scribe giggled. "I'm so scared . . . of Nancy!" She rolled on her side in merriment!
"It's not funny. She was really ugly." The Hippie looked at me. "Did she turn into an evil changeling because she lied so much? Was Nancy a normal person, once . . . before all of the lying?"
"She was always a changeling. But it does go to show how yucky lying can be. Lies can turn a great situation into something very ugly."
Her lip quivered. Her eyes bulged. "Mama," she whispered in my ear. "Can I talk to you alone?"
I asked The Scribe to watch her youngest siblings (The Zombie Elf and Doctor Jones).
The Scribe cracks me up. She can make anything look cool. There she sat, her feet suddenly up on the side of the couch. She ate red licorice, like it was really the black kind most kids don't like. She ate it all lazy, as if it hung from the ceiling instead of her hand. "No prob," she said. "Take your time."
I walked upstairs with The Hippie, and with each step she trudged slower and slower.
"Are you okay?" I asked when we finally got to her room.
"No, I'm not," she said. "My heart's burning inside."
"Burning? That's serious."
"You know how we gave the teachers our notes today?"
"Well, you didn't know it, but I asked The Scribe to write what I wanted on mine. She has beautiful handwriting and I wanted the teacher to think I could write good too. Anyway, I gave my teacher the note and she really isn't a witch. She loved the letter and said I have amazing penmanship."
The Hippie peered at me, so much concern in those six-year-old eyes. "You know what I did?" she asked.
"I told my nice teacher that I wrote the whole thing. I said it was my writing and I worked so hard. That woman loved me for it! She loved me." The Hippie bawled at this point. "Then I couldn't eat lunch. My heart burned inside all day. I felt evil like that Nancy woman on Star Trek! I bet she burned inside before turning yucky."
"Oh, Honey." I hugged her.
"So," The Hippie continued, "I went up to the teacher after school."
"Yes, and I told her something brave. I said, 'teacher, I wanted to tell you I forgot, but I didn't write that note. My sister wrote my words for me.' Then she smiled. She said it was all right. See, she really isn't an evil witch! That proves it more than anything. But she could be a good witch who knew I lied and made my heart burn."
"But you told her you forgot, even though you really didn't forget?"
"Well, when I say 'I forgot' it's kind of magical. I use it on you all the time and it really keeps me out of trouble."
I snorted. My child confessed to a lie, by LYING AGAIN! I guess that's what happens when you learn values from James T. Kirk.
Later that night, after we watched a another episode (one about cloning), we sat down for dinner and Cade said, “Hippie, you are so cute. What am I going to do with you? Should I call you Hippie or Sweetheart?”
“Whatever,” she said carelessly. “Just don't call me Nancy.”