MyThreeDaughters

Remember that “Seinfeld” episode when Elaine befriended another group of guys, much like Jerry, George and Kramer, except they were nice to each other, not sarcastic, did enlightening things rather than spending all their time on mindless nonsense?
They referred to them as “the Bizarro Jerry” and so on.
The other night, I had the fortunate and unexpected opportunity to spend time with my Bizarro daughters: Bizarro Fontaine, Bizarro Elizabeth and Bizarro Rosebud.
Now, readers of these posts know that I love the little rascals all the time, and heaven knows, their non-Bizarro moments have provided fodder for more than 130 blog entries over the past couple of years.
But I wasn’t sure what to think or how to respond when, abracadabra, they turned into charming and helpful children Thursday night when Wife went to work.
First, Fontaine and Elizabeth informed me that their new household jobs had to be done: Elizabeth wipes off the dinner table, then Fontaine sweeps the floor.
Hey, fire up, I thought, I gotta see this.
Meanwhile, I took Rosebud up to put her to bed. Normally, Regular Rosebud refuses to choose a book and then rejects any books that I pick out. Sometimes, she says those books are “locked.” Regular Rosebud also now insists on a full-wattage lamp being left on at night, which obviously won’t work, and then tries to block me from turning it off (Sacrified her hand to a hot light bulb the other night just to stand her ground). When I put her in the crib, she yells at me for “another doll” to be put in with her, and then another, another, another. One night, she insisted that before going to bed her blanket should be washed.
Bizarro Rosebud turned the lamp off herself, crawled into her crib herself, listened as I sang three songs, then told me good night.
Not knowing what to do, I stood in the room for a moment as though I had been turned to a pillar of salt.
I came downstairs.
Not only had they wiped the table and swept the floor, but they had straightened the family room and neatly placed the remotes — which I normally have to dig out of a crevice of the couch before I search for the couch cushions that have been used to make a “fort” — on a table.
To quote the Talking Heads: And you may tell yourself, THIS is not my beautiful house.
I asked them to make an imprint on bitewings, so I could check their dental records after they went to bed, but they sure looked like our girls.
I am hoping these girls stick around, so if anyone kidnapped ours. Don’t try to bring them back. I’m keeping these three.