Peas and Thank You

Monkey on My Back

Just when I thought I was over him.

I’d shoved all the old photographs and letters in a box in the garage, wedged between the Christmas wrap and the Halloween decorations.

I made his favorite dessert for Easter.

I stopped changing the radio when our song came on.   “Hollaback Girl.”  I know.  It’s bananas.

B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

I stopped thinking it was him, when in a crowded mall or restaurant, I got a whiff of polyester monkey.

But then yesterday, just as quickly as he left, he was back.

Malibu.

Shocking, I know.

(You may remember Malibu from this post.)

But the Malibu that showed up yesterday was not the Malibu I loved.

His paws are tainted, his hair matted from stolen hugs and kisses, dozens of kindergartener’s booger-covered hands having run through his once silky, clean fur.  He brazenly wore his leopard-print ascot as a sign of his conquests. Clearly, the fact that we were “his first” meant nothing to him.

I’m going to burn that throw pillow now.  And not just because it’s ugly.

To add insult to injury, he came with a notebook full of love notes from other children and a little memento from his torrid affair with another mother.

A hand-sewn banana.

Malibu knows I can’t sew a stich–and so does Pea Daddy, since finding scaly glue on my thigh.  What?  I super-glued the seam of my favorite running shorts back on the other day.  The glue should wear off in about three days and I can wear my shorts for another three years.  Win-win.

We weren’t about to just let him back into our lives without any sense of shame for his promiscuous ways.

Not looking so studly now are you, Malibu?

But the lesson of having Malibu back wasn’t to see how many germs a stuffed monkey can accumulate after seven months of runny noses, uncovered coughs and trips to the potty.  It was to see how much we’ve grown.

Namely, I no longer do Gigi’s homework for her.

September 27, 2010

April 27, 2011

Well, look at that!

I took this as a good opportunity for me to check up on what went on while I was getting my haircut last night.

In other words, to get clues to my birthday present.

Dress up…pizza.…nothing telling there.  Although I do like the way she’s slipped in some proper English.  “Forth hence we made dinner…”

Got in the car…now we’re getting somewhere.

“Drove to the store.”

Really, Gigi?  That’s it?  We’re going to have a serious talk about developing our narrative skills by adding details.  As in ‘What store?’  And ‘What exactly did you buy?’  And ‘Did Pea Daddy use a Groupon?’

I overlooked any lack of substantive information to admire the fact that Sister can write better than pretty much anyone on Celebrity Apprentice.  (Let’s aim a little higher, though, shall we?)

I didn’t see Malibu though.  I asked Gigi where he was.

She said, “Playing with Bella.”

Shocking, I know.

We sent Malibu, his man scarf and his dirty banana packing.

You can’t teach an old monkey new tricks.

But you can bathe your dolls in Lysol.