Something New by Janis Thomas Read Free Book Online

philosophical, or when one of the kids takes too long telling a story—but he is always there for us. And he never complains when I ask him to pick up tampons on his way home.
    I give his fingers a squeeze, then make a point of planting a kiss on his cheek before I get up to clear the paper plates from the table. Sally, our lab mix, eyes me from her dog bed just inside the kitchen. When I say
lab mix
I am only referring to what the gal from the shelter wrote on the adoption form when we brought her home. I’m certain she does have some lab in her. Along with a bit of every breed of dog known to man. Perhaps some noncanine breeds as well—when she rolls around in the mud in our backyard, she often closely resembles a shaggy elephant seal. She is large and hairy, and she has a tail that could bring down a pillar of solid stone when she gets excited. (I have the bruised calves to prove it.) Her eyes are brown and look like they have been tattooed with eyeliner, her ears flop like a bloodhound on steroids, and when she shakes herself dry, she hurls wads of saliva, dousing any and all innocent bystanders with a veritable geyser of dog slobber. But she is sweet tempered and affectionate, although not the most efficient home protector. In fact, as a guard dog, she stinks. When the doorbell rings, she races up the stairs and tries to bury all ninety-eight pounds of herself in the six-inch crawl space under Jessie’s canopy bed, probably hoping against hope that my eight-year-old daughter will protect
her
.
    Surreptitiously, I bend over and place the scallion pancake just in front of Sally’s nose. She sniffs it once, then rolls over and shows me her belly, as if to say,
I’m watching my weight, too
. But the second I turn away from her, I hear a slurp ofepic proportions, and when I turn back around, the pancake has vanished.
    Now that we’ve finished dinner, there is no longer anything to keep my children’s mouths busy, thus the pre-dessert conversation begins. While I clean up, Jessie regales her brothers and her father with her exploits at rehearsal, gesturing wildly for dramatic effect as she talks about one particular Oompa-Loompa who doesn’t know his right foot from his left and cannot,
just cannot
, learn the steps for their first big number. Jessie, who excels at ballet and is an avid fan of the Wii dancing game, is intolerant of such incompetence. I almost expect her to stand up and shout, “I cannot
vork
under zese conditions!” She does stand up, without any exclamations, and proceeds to perform the Oompa-Loompa dance number without making a single mistake. My husband and Matthew applaud her, causing her to beam with pride, but Connor just rolls his eyes.
    “That is so easy!” he balks. “I could do that.”
    “Oh really?” Jonah fires back. “Let’s see it, Baryshnikov.”
    “What? Now?” Connor’s preteen cockiness wavers.
    “Right now,” Jonah replies with a knowing grin. As a father, Jonah is aces. He has the uncanny ability to reprimand without anger, to call our children on their transgressions without browbeating them. He uses humor to defuse situations like this rather than choosing humiliation techniques. He taps into their thought processes, inspiring them to really understand the implications and consequences of their behavior. I envy him. Even on my best day, I am more likely to yell and scream than sit them down for a soul-searching heart to heart. But as a mom, I don’t have this luxury. Who has time for a behavioral postmortem when dinner needs to be cooked or homework reviewed or baseball/soccer/karate/ballet/tennis uniforms laundered/stitched/patched/purchased? Screaming and yelling are quick and to the point, however fruitless they may be.
    “Okay, fine.” Connor has risen to the challenge, even though we all know what is about to happen. He takes one step, then another.
    “Wrong,” chirps Jessie.
    “I don’t know where the music starts,” he says defensively.
    “That’s