Lula is crying out on the patio.
"I want to be with Anyaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!" she cries.
Anya is an only child who was in Lula's class last year. They're friends. According to Lula, Anya has got it good.
Lula has a succulent. Anya has an entire garden.
Lula has a CD player/radio. Anya has a karaoke machine.
Lula usually gets something for dessert. But Anya?! Anya gets chocolate ice cream with sprinkles and whipped cream in a parfait cup with a cherry on top and served with a gold plated spoon - every! single! night! (Save for the occasions where her parents take her to the town ice cream parlor, which according to Lula, is at least three times a week.)
I know that Lula is playing me. She creates these little "cry wolf" dramas to get out of doing the most basic of things: like making her bed, tying her shoes or even putting on her underwear -after being asked a minimum of forty-five times. She knows she can divert the attention away from the task at hand and if she keeps at it long enough, she'll hit upon something that will catch me off guard.
Like the time she proclaimed in all seriousness, "It's just not fair! Over half of my class has swam with dolphins."
Really? I thought. And then I laughed.
Meanwhile, she's shoeless, face down on an unmade bed crying about how she had to sit on the bench during recess three years ago on her birthday. Anya never has to sit on the bench.