the sorceress sings a sad, sad song

Yesterday morning five year-old Lola went off by herself. I was in the next room torturing myself over the daily paper's Sudoku (got it on the second try, but with shame at having needed a second go-round), and I used my Sudoku pencil to write down her lyrics (later Lola inquired, "Mama, why do you write on the newspaper?" "Because it was there").

Lola evidently was feeling the brunt of her older sister's displeasure, as she sang softly and sorrowfully,

"It's all my fault
It's all my fault
It's all my fault
That's all I want to say
I don't know what to put in your lunch
It's a big deal
It's a big deal
And that is that
And that is that
Oh yeah, yeah, yeah."

(Incidentally, lest the reader condemn the Drunken Housewife for forcing little Lola to labor at her sister's behest, Lola had not been required to pack any lunches for her sister. Interestingly enough Iris insists on making the lunch for her little sister to take to pre-k whenever there's a chance, and Lola-hating Iris prides herself on making a fine boxed lunch. "Lucy, I put SEVEN THINGS IN!" she announced yesterday).

Iris had the day off from school and had been using it to torment her sister psychologically, with the occasional maternal intervention, but the hour came for Lola to be taken to pre-k. At pre-k, one of the parents drew me aside. Her daughter had come home the day before with an agenda. She had a long list of things, beginning with pine needles, which she needed to acquire and mix up together, stat. "What do you need all that for?" the mother asked bemusedly. "Lola says if I mix it all up together, I will get ANYTHING I WISH FOR," said the little girl with absolute faith.

I'm so happy to see Lola striking a tone of authority outside the home. It was also, as I discussed with this mother and one of my favorite dads, nice to hear of the girls playing something other than their endless dreary housekeeping and Cinderella games. "Why are they so obsessed with mopping," one parent said wonderingly.

"Lola certainly doesn't see that modeled in our home," I said guiltily. We laughed, and crabby old Iris pulled my sleeve to get me away on my assigned errand of buying candy as her thank-you present for working with our undersocialized foster cat. Why should a mother stand around discussing Lola when she could be buying candy for Iris? The mind boggles.