Full-Time Mommy, Part-Time Ninja

So, this weekend was Christmas at my mom’s house. The boys and I slept over as Jason was on call.

“Are you sorry you’re missing out?” I asked him.

“On 40 people crammed into two overheated 10×12′ rooms? Yup. Heartbroken.”

Jason’s sarcasm aside, we had a great time with the family. But the boys’ take on my childhood home is always the best. Jack views trips to my old room like mini archeological digs and always comes back with some sort of souvenir of his journey. This explains the numerous 4-H trophies from the late 80s that adorn his dresser.

The triplets are kind of uncertain about the whole thing, still asking clarifying questions about my upbringing.

“So Mamaw Steadman is your mommy?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And Bubba is your dad?”

“No, he’s my brother. He just lives with mawmaw so they can take care of each other.”

“Oh, cause you’re dad’s in heaven, right?”

“Right.”

As they’ve gotten more comfortable in their surroundings, they’ve started digging deeper and noticing more. For instance, Sam spotted for the first time the GIGANTIC portrait of me at age 15 wearing an unfortunate black turtleneck that I thought made me look sophisticated and worldly — no small feat considering I was having my portrait made inside the J.C. Penney at the Jasper mall. But I digress.

Sam looked up at almost-life-sized-me and asked my sister why there was a picture of “that ninja girl” on the wall.

In a conspiratorial whisper, my sister Amy said, “Well you know, that girl is actually your mommy a long time ago.”

Sam turned to her, eyes wide and gasped, “My mommy was a ninja?!?!”

As for me, I’m neither confirming or denying my past exploits. I figure I need every bit of leverage I can get.