Wednesday, September 30, 2009

fair is fair (with Mama shoe flair)

It's not fair when I:
rub his brother's back for longer than I rub his.
give Marcel a kiss first.
Cuddle with him longer.
Sleep in my own bed, alone.

It's not fair when I win at a board game,
in fact it feels like a complete breech to his nervous system if I do.

It's not fair that his brother's birthday comes first. It would help if he could get presents too. That would feel fair-er.

What is fair is the fair.
Rides by himself because he can.
Rides with his brother because his brother can't
A giant order of cotton candy for dinner, because
I said he could buy what he wanted
with the money he earned
sleeping in his bed five nights in a row.
Watching motorcycle snow mobiles lift into the air
over a giant pile of dirt,
and horses pulling riders in unison.

What is fair is asking for the toy trumpets to disappear
for the car ride home if they want to ever see them again.

All of this negotiating and rewarding
and noticing is making me very, very tired.

I suppose that's fair.

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