There are words a mother never wants to hear. I’ve got a list of them; I keep it in a notebook which is otherwise filled with very boring accounting. I don’t want to give the kids ideas.
“I only set it a little on fire” was one of the first; that was Jin, who was going through one of those phases at the time. “The neighbors invited me over for dinner” was a touchy one when Juniper came up with it.
But the worst so far, knock on wood, was “Mommy, what’s a Rakshasa?”
I lie. That just prefaced the worst one.
“Why do you ask, honey bun?” Please don’t let the Smiths be moving out. Or the Dungans. I have my limits, the sky above only knows, and that could very well be one of them.
“Our Campfire Scout leader is moving out of town and our new leader says she’s a Manushya-Rakshasi. Some sort of Rakshasa?”
“Oh… wild fates, baby.” A flesh-eating monster for a Scout leader. Not a dragon, not even an ogre, somewhere they had found a rakshasa. “Hold on, sweetie, I’m going to make you some special brownies for your next meeting.” Very special brownies. I had something in my black jars that could stop even a cannibal spirit’s appetite. Rakshasa, indeed. What were the higher-ups thinking?
Of course, they’d probably be able to beat up any other troop…
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