The Harry-Potter-Like Powers of Parents
So I’m out shopping the other day and…wait, back up. Have I really reached the point in life where shopping (which used to mean “fun, leisurely jaunts to my favorite clothing and book stores”) now means a quick run to pick up toilet paper, cat litter and drain cleaner?
Anyway, I’m out “shopping” and my cell phone rings.
“Mom, what’s for lunch?” asks my 15yo son “P,” calling from our kitchen.
(Apparently, I possess the ability to see inside our fridge from the men’s sock aisle in Target.)
“Well, I just bought lunch meat and cheese yesterday, so there’s plenty of stuff for sandwiches,” I say, as I virtually peer into our fridge’s deli drawer from five miles away.
“Do we have bread?” asks P.
“I think so,” I reply, as I try to juggle my cell phone while sorting through a stack of coupons. “Why don’t you check to make sure?”
“Where?” P asks, perplexed. (This brilliant question, from the kid taking Algebra II Honors this year.)
“Try the bread box,” I say knowingly and with great sarcasm that he doesn’t seem to pick up on.
“Oh, yeah. We’ve got a whole loaf,” he says, almost surprised to have found this new “bread box contraption” heretofore undiscovered in his 15 years on Earth.
I possess great powers in my house – magical powers that allow me to see through walls and even see across many miles.
I know if we’re out of milk, even when I’m not standing in front of the fridge with the door open. I know who left the toilet seat up in the bathroom. I know whose turn it is to bring in the trash cans. And I know when my kids are on their cell phones, even if they are both upstairs in their rooms, not making a sound. (Quiet = teens on screens. Fighting with each other = not on screens. Duh.)
Even Kevin (my husband) does not wield this wily magic that only I possess:
“Where’s the oven mitt?” Kevin might ask when he needs to get a pizza out of the oven.
“In the drawer where it’s been since we moved here 18 years ago,” I reply with great authority.
I. Am. Amazing.
I didn’t notice my husband’s magical powers right away.
It began on a typical Saturday morning, with Kevin downstairs watching a soccer game he’d recorded the night before. In the next room – and this is key – the boys eat breakfast while discussing their “who-gets-to-play-videogames-first” strategy.
Having just showered, I’m upstairs getting ready to blow-dry my hair. The moment I turn the hairdryer on, my younger son (“P”) pops his head in the bathroom.
“Mom?”
Hairdryer off.
“What’s up, P?” I ask.
“Can I play video games? I did all my chores,” he explains.
“Sure.”
P bolts downstairs to turn on the PS4.
Hairdryer on. Three seconds go by.
“Mom!”
Hairdryer off.
“What’s up, T?” I ask, already knowing where this conversation is headed. (Refer to Part 1 of this blog post for my explanation of Mom’s Magic.)
“No fair!” he whines. “Why does P get to play video games first? I did all my chores, too.”
“Because he asked me first, I guess. Why didn’t you just ask Dad? He’s downstairs watching the soccer game.”
T replies, “Oh, I didn’t see him.”
Didn’t see him, he says.
Didn’t notice the TV blaring in the room right next to the kitchen where T just came from.
Didn’t hear Kevin yelling, “He was OFFSIDES!”
And that’s when it struck me – Kevin was wearing his Invisibility Cloak.
All those times, thousands upon thousands of times, when the boys came to me for help or permission or protection (from each other), they sought me out – even though Kevin was within arm’s reach. Why? They simple didn’t see him.
The Invisibility Cloak masked Kevin like Harry Potter trying to escape the clutches of Voldemort. It veiled him from the always-needing-me Muggles so they’d walk right past him in search of The One Who Solves Family Problems.
It all became so clear now.
The verbal battles I refereed, the split-decision judgments I rendered, the permission-granting wishes I delivered like anticipated birthday gifts. All these petitions from my kids occurred – not because I was their favorite parent, as I had begun to believe – but because of Kevin’s covert presence in the house.
I had been duped by Dad’s Magic.
Wait a minute…those times when Kevin claimed he “didn’t see” the laundry basket at the bottom of the stairs waiting to be carried up, the garbage bag waiting to be taken outside or the cat vomit waiting to be cleaned up, it wasn’t the ol’ Invisibility Cloak trick, was it?
Damn, Kevin even worked his crafty magic on me. He’s good.
Lisa Beach is a freelance writer, blogger, mother of two teenagers, and recovering SAHM/homeschooler who lived to write about it. Catch up with her at Tweenior Moments, Lisa’s humor blog about midlife, family, friends and all the baggage that goes with it. Follow her on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest
