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my snowy declaration.
I find the will to peel my eyes open as my socks are annoyingly ripped from my feet.I shiver and pull them back under my blankets.
"Come on!I'm hungry!"
squeals the seven-year-old I call brother.
I moan and relocate the pillow to over my head,where it can drown out his voice.Multifunctional.Who would've thought?
I squint my eyes tightly and groan.
I nearly have a panic attackt when I'm greeted by the freezing air after my cozy blankets are removed form my possesion.
He takes off running out of the room and down the hall carrying my entire bedspread over his little body.
I have to forceivily tear myself from the warm bed as I plop down on the rug and yawn.
After a few stretches and scratching..I glumly drag myself downstairs.
I can only imagine the looks I'm about to receive from my mother,and her comments on the 'rat's nest of a mop' lying on my head.
Turns out,she's busy.Ooooh..didn't see that coming.
As much as I hate the neglect I obtain from her daily,its actually quite funny to watch her scramble to find her purse,keys,breakfeast,and whatever eles she needs in the morning.
As always,there she is..running around in her female buisness suit for her real estate 9-5:00 job.Carrying a mug with her usual undone coffee,and snuggling the newspaper between her side and her elbow.
Richard comes sliding down the stairwell and stumbles into the kitchen and plops down at the counter on a barstool.
I hand him some crayons and paper as I begin to prepare him my specialty,cereal.
"Em,don't put orange juice in his cereal again.I mean it."
I tried to peirce her with my eyes.Besides,pouring orange juice in his cereal and watching the look on his face when he swallows it always brightens up my day.
She ruins everything.
She gives me the stern look that means I'm about to get it.Whatever 'it' is.
"Emilee.I mean it."
They think I do everything I do for attention.
My father is just a hermit,staying in the basement with his inventions all day everyday.Something tells me he has a feeling that he needs to stay within a 50ft perimeter of his spawn,and his 'nagathon'..as my uncle refers to my mother.
He claims if there were such a thing as a nag-a-thon,she'd be a shoe in.So thats how he sees her,and she is the samely fulfilled with calling him trash-a-thon.Sometimes hobo,it depends on her mood.
Richard munches away at his cereal and burps as his finishes off the last of it.
"I'm going to Teddy's Emmie.Mom?Can I?Can I please Mom?"
-"If Emilee walks you."
We barely hear her as she exits the house to our surburban neighborhood,the cul-de-sac.
She rushes to her minivan and slides in to the heat.She's like a mouse fleeing from a cat when it comes to cold weather and snow.
I pull my hair back and tie it up and slide on my boots.Grab the housekeys,and my heavy overcoat,and force richard to pull his on,too.
I question him.
As he shakes his head and toddles out the door in his snowsuit.
I grin to myself.
I reluclantly lock the door as I exit the small building.Mom would throw a fit if I left the house vulnerable.She hates it when no one's home and the doors left unlocked.
I have a feeling I'm not coming straight home today.