Oh Lord y’all.
Every day I make a point to ask my kids what they learned in school. The answer was unexpected on Tuesday.
“We learned Charlie Charlie,” Harper told me.
“Who dat,” I asked.
“You set a pencil on a piece of paper and you say ‘Charlie Charlie are you here’ and if the pencil moves to no it means he’s not there, but if it moves to yes it means-”
“It means Charlie is there,” June interrupted.
“So, conjuring spirits then?
“What does ‘conjuring’ mean,” Harper asked.
“Verb. To call forth or make to matererialize.”
“Oh. Then yeah.”
“Rock on,” said I.
So last night we got home and the girls started playing Charlie Charlie. June wrote “no” on one side of a slice of paper and “YAS” on the other side. Then she crossed two crayons over the center of the paper and waited.
And then she and Harper got bored and went outside.
So I decided that I needed to do something to (a) keep their faith in magic alive and (b) entertain myself. So I did this:
They have been looking for signs that prove the existence of an afterlife since before dinner last night.
Before all this went down, though, I came home to find this on my front porch:
It ain’t mine. Unless God is playing a real shitty joke on me, this is not a thing that I will ever, ever need again.
Hail Satan it was just a shipping error and not some awful expression of divine retribution. Because damn.
I have my limits.