We got our air conditioning fixed in our maroon awesome van. Now that we don't have to roll the windows down, I can hear Ellipses and Exclamation in the backseat. I didn't realize how many great conversations I was missing out on.
"I am a really good scratcher, so you better watch out!" said Exclamation, bragging about herself, and accompanying this observation with a hiss and a clawed hand darting out toward her older sister, trapped with her in the back seat of the van.
"When I grow up I'm going to put a sign on my door that says, "No Exclamations Allowed!" (I hope she prints it up all cute in vinyl, maybe with some little flowers around it and she can change the background for each holiday.) (Sorry this story is much funnier if you insert a real name in there)
We have all sorts of sisterly love going around this summer, and not just in the van. This morning, Exclamation and Ellipses were trying very hard to say nice encouraging things to Apostrophe about learning to ride her bike with no training wheels. They even made up a little song about how she would get it if she just kept practicing, practicing, practicing, practicing. It was really quite sweet. Apostrophe kept pouting her three-year-old glare at them. "Don't tawk to me! No! Don't tawk to me! I hate you."
Summer has been a bit difficult for everyone to adjust to. We all have to figure out how to be around each other every day, all day. And everyone is vying, all at once, as loud as they can, for my attention. Our routines are helping, but sometimes we have to lay down our bikes on a busy road and have a good old-fashioned slap fight.
One morning on our bike ride, as we rode down a slightly busy road in front of our neighborhood, Exclamation stopped suddenly and did not warn Ellipses she was stopping. Ellipses ran into her tire.
"YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!" Exclamation yelled. She glared at Ellipses, got off her bike, laid it down on the road, and walked back to swing her open-handed fists at Ellipses's own open-handed fists, making a great picture of family love. I pedaled away from them, pretending to not know the homeless-looking children fighting in the road.
Sometimes I guess you just need a good slapfight to make yourself feel better. I haven't tried it yet, but maybe I'll ask Mike if he wants to argue by standing two feet away from each other slapping our hands at each other in the air, kind of like we're giving each other angry high-fives, or playing a super-charged hand game of Zing. Zing. Zing.