PULP

I come home from work and my wife says, “Your children are driving me crazy. You will never believe the day I’ve had.”

“I suppose it’s too late to put them up for adoption,” I say.

“We’re well past the return policy.”

“Any chance the circus is in town?”

“I need a G & T,” she says. “More gin than tonic, please.”

I mix her cocktail, pour myself a goblet of red wine, and we take our drinks out on the deck. We’ve moved on to daylight savings time and the sun is still high in the sky; birds are twittering in the eucalyptus trees, and there’s a definite spring feel in the air.

“Talk to me,” I say.

She talks, I listen.

My wife left our kids at home together so she could take her mother to a doctor’s appointment. Her instructions to the kids were explicit: eat something and then get on with your homework. Don’t talk to one another. Don’t watch TV, stay off Netflix and the Wii. She’s hardly out of the driveway when her phone rings the first time.

“Listen to these messages,” she says, setting her iPhone on the table.

Voice mail from Gabriel:

Mother, why did you buy orange juice with pulp? You know I despise pulp. Is that why you bought it, so I won’t drink the entire carton in one day? Well, I’m here to tell you that your little plan is going to fail, because I am going to strain the pulp from the orange juice. I will strain it and save the pulp, and when you’re not paying attention I will add pulp to your wine, or better yet, one of your gin and tonics. Then you will understand how thoroughly I detest pulp. Never buy this pulp-laden juice again, OK? Let’s make a family rule: no pulp. From this moment on we boycott pulp. I love you. Nonetheless, I am very disappointed about this unacceptable OJ. See you later.

Voice mail from Miranda:

Mom? Mom? It’s Miranda. My brother is acting like a giant A-hole. He says he didn’t steal my jellybeans, but I know he did. His fingerprints are all over this one. He’s such a pig. I know you love him, I just don’t understand why. He’s so annoying and stupid. Tell him he can’t come in my room, ever. I really need you to lay down the law for me on this. By the way, why did you buy orange juice with pulp? It’s awful.

Voice mail from Gabriel:

Mother, if I kill Miranda will I go to juvenile hall or prison? I didn’t take her stupid jellybeans. Any time she can’t find something it’s my fault. Last week is was her favorite pencil, this week it’s jellybeans, next week it will be something else. Can you tell her to leave me alone? OK, love you.

Voice mail from Miranda:

Mom, Gabriel is such a liar! You should take his phone away. Better yet, take his laptop away! I hate my brother! But I love you, mom, you’re the best.

Voice mail from Gabriel:

Hi mother, it’s me again. Mother, we don’t have any food. Can you stop and pick something up? I’m feeling like Chinese. I’d like vegetable soup, orange chicken, shrimp fried rice, curry beef, and one order of egg rolls. And ask for extra fortune cookies, at least six. By the way, I have some rather unpleasant news about the algebra test I took today; I may have failed. Miserably.

Voice mail from Miranda:

Mom, Gabriel peed on the toilet seat and didn’t clean it up! I sat on his pee! He’s so disgusting.

Voice mail from Gabriel:

Mother, Miranda’s lying, it wasn’t my pee. I don’t know whose pee it was, but it wasn’t mine. I know you won’t believe me because you always take Miranda’s side, but I’m telling the truth.

Voice mail from Miranda:

Mom, he’s such a liar. It’s HIS pee. It’s not mine, it’s not yours, and dad isn’t here, so who else’s pee can it be?

My wife says, “Now do you understand why I’m stressed out? I had to turn my phone off so I could focus on what the doctor was saying about my mother. Atypical pneumonia, by the way. The doctor prescribed a new round of antibiotics. Mom has to go back for a follow-up in three days.”

“You sure the circus isn’t in town?” I ask. “We could sell ‘em cheap and take a long vacation. Whadaya say?”

“How about you mix me another G&T.”

“You got it, baby.”