Mom. Mom. Mom. MO-OMMM! [Our Father]
I know you’re upstairs in your room pretending not to hear me. [Who art in heaven]
HEL-LO!!! MOM! [Hallowed be thy name]
Okay. Okay, I’ll do it.
I said I’ll do it! I’ll clean my room! Even under the bed and inside the closet!
[Thy kingdom come; thy will be done]
It’ll be perfectly, sickeningly neat, just like your room. Are you happy now?
[On earth as it is in heaven.]
Mom. When’s dinner?
Mom, I’m getting hungry. Could we have spaghetti?
Please, Mom? And garlic bread? [Give us this day our daily bread]
You know you can’t ground me just for sticking gum in Madison’s hair. She didn’t even care. Plus, we cut it out and it’s fine. [And forgive us our trespasses]
Mom? Are you listening? Remember how I didn’t kill her when she ruined my lipstick on her Bratz doll? It’s live and let live, Mom. Live and Let Live! [As we forgive those who trespass against us.]
Also you can’t EVEN ground me or I’ll freaking miss the first dance of the year and I’ll be like a pariah. You have no idea. Don’t make me sneak out, Mom. [Lead us not into temptation]
And you need to sign my drop/add form. Mom? I can not have pervy Mr. Dawes for Geometry. No way in Hell. [but deliver us from evil]
I said no way in Hell, Mom! You don’t even care if I’m swearing down here?
It’s supposed to be “Your house, your rules.” [for thine is the kingdom and the power]
You’re really a great mom, you know? Tons cooler than Emma’s mom, or even Samantha’s. I mean it. You make the best spaghetti. It’s totally sick. [and the glory forever]
I said you make the best spaghetti!
What. Ever. [Amen]
Laura Allen Sandage is a singer/songwriter, choir director, artistic mystic, and writer whose work has appeared in Hip Mama, Hysteria, and Mothers’ Underground Magazine. Her daughters are now 20 and 25— no more teenagers!