The Lighter Side of Abandonment

DISCLAIMER BY MY SIGNIFICANTLY OLDER SISTER: "This blog post is (mostly) a work of fiction. Many events contained therein have been embellished. Other parts of this blog post are simply the product of the author's (very active) imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons is entirely coincidental."


Rebuttal to the Disclaimer by my Significantly Older Sister: In response to my dear older sister's disclaimer (which she submitted to me in writing) , I have replaced my previously planned post about my sister's five children being abandoned at a Nevada truck stop by their hard-partying parents with the following truthier post. (So THERE Jenny! Insert sound of "slobbery razzberry being blown" here.)


When Momma and Daddy leave town for two days, you stop practicing piano and start rescuing princesses from evil dragons.
You forget about getting stickers on chore charts and focus on earning medals for bravery (or for keeping your squawk-box of a little sister from screeching every six minutes) .

You cease worrying about high fructose corn syrup, trans-fats, and the inherent evils of a non-vegetarian lifestyle and begin chowing cheese burgers and fries and sucking root beer through crazy straws like there is no tomorrow.

When your parents haven't been seen for hours, you stop asking Dam-ma to read you story books, and start talking her into climbing into the tree house and trying out the slide.

When you suddenly find yourself parentless, you ignore social norms that have been in force since the middle ages that dictate that people and dragons can't be peacefully coexist and make the fire-breathing critters your pals.

Then you wait until their scaly backs are turned and hack them to smithereens with your needle-topped swords and wands.

When Momma and Daddy spend the night 40 minutes away, the bathtub sits unused while the slip'n'slide and hose pull double duty as toys and personal hygiene tools.

Bedtimes are rescheduled to accommodate impromptu excursions to gather raspberries in your pajamas.

Children who have been abandoned by their parents for 36 hours heed their cousin Bonnie's advice, follow Elizabeth's example, and plant doughnut seeds (both glazed and chocolate) in window baskets while they let the tomato and zucchini plants wither in the garden.

Then they unplug their low-wattage night lights and fall asleep in the glow of of their neon wands/swords/crowns.

Then those same temporary orphans wake up (way too early) to harvest and feast upon the fruits of their agricultural labors and wonder aloud why the seeds that Daddy plants outside take so much longer to grow.

When children are left in the care of a grandma and an aunt who may or may not have decades-old scores to settle with their momma, PBS gets turned off and all of the kid-requested-movies that were previously deemed "too scary" are played on a continuous loop in a darkened basement.

Dinner time without responsible adult supervision features vegetables that can be used as magic wands or deadly daggers depending on the situation. And little boys discover that the best meals are those that necessitate a separate plate on which to stack the bones.

When Momma and Daddy have been gone for three naps and one bedtime, you play with the hose, sit in the big chairs, test-drive a Harley Big Wheels, and eat goldfish crackers straight from the box until all of your bodily fluids exit your body in a lovely shade of prison-jump-suit-orange. In other words, you live all of your wildest dreams...

...especially the dreams that involve not wearing a shirt because, as any self-respecting Native American teenage werewolf would tell you, it is impossible to be truly happy if your belly button can't see the light of day.

And then, when Momma and Daddy come home (armed with sugar-free, educational souvenirs), the suddenly-unabandoned children crash into their long-lost-parents' knees at full speed and cover them in hugs and kisses. Then they tell Momma and Daddy all about how Dam-ma hid their beloved all-natural fiber-filled cereal and forced them to eat doughnuts while Mindy refused to let them practice piano until they had earned the high score on the wii game with the farting, burping bunnies.

Then they ask for broccoli for a bed-time snack because, when Momma and Daddy only take trips to celebrate wedding anniversaries of years that end in zeros (10, 20, 30, etc.), you do what you have to do to stay on their good sides...even if that means throwing Dam-Ma and Mindy under the bus.