two sundays ago, i discovered baby mac had reached the age where hiding from my weekly sunday FaceTime was more fun than actually talking to me. WHAT IS THIS, i thought. SHE’S ONLY 4. i’m supposed to be a fun aunt until, well, hell, until always. aunts are always the fun ones. it’s the moms that bear the full brunt of the teenage hormones (sorry, sister J) (and S-I-L M). she and bubba mac continued their game of hide and stay hidden, so sister J and i caught up instead. it was a rare treat talking like adults instead of filling in the blanks of the mad libs kids’ conversation.
last sunday, i came prepared. if baby mac was going to act like a teenager, i was going to get teenage advice from her. she danced around the room, a tiny ballerina on my phone screen. she plopped down next to her brother. she tore through the kitchen asking for something sweet. “hey, K,” i shouted. i waited until her face filled the view and then i unleashed the secret weapon, “what should i be for halloween?” she froze. her eyes grew pumpkin sized. her grin, a jack-o-lantern.
“i don’t know,” came tumbling through her teeth. her usual response. she looked towards her mom.
sister J prodded her, guided her, mothered her.
“a witch,” K said and looked right at me.
this sunday, i’m going to show her my costume.
Abigail Mumford 