"Get In Here, NOW", I yelled from the 5 year old's bedroom. I was trying to get as many small humans into bed as possible at one time, and Tradition* was not making this easy. I was tossing clothes in the hamper and giving the 3 year old, Wonder, the evil eye as she began to hop back out of her pajamas. Fed up waiting for Tradition, I started to count to five and stomped down the hall. I rounded the corner as I hit "FOUR AND A HALF", and found her sitting cross legged on the bathroom countertop, staring at herself, nose less than an inch away from the mirror, barely breathing. I may have mentioned this before, but in those days I was trying to practice the advice "Always listen first at least as long as you plan to talk". So I took a deep breath and through gritted said, "Alright, missy, what are you doing?" Still in her frozen state, eyes beginning to turn red, she said, somewhat petulantly, "I am in a staring contest."
Now, why is it we don't eat our young?
"With yourself?" I asked in exasperation. She refused to even dignify that question with a response. I raised both hands to physically remove her from the contest, when I heard Peace, then 8 years old, call out in a voice full of far more sarcasm than any 8 year old had any business commanding,
"Oh, ya, whose winning." Ba-dum ching.
I told the kids I forgot to take my vitamins and fled before they saw me cave.
*names have been changed to protect the innocent
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I'm actually wondering if "the innocent" in this story might actually b e you. In which case, there is no discernible name change. My mom used to make a tent with one hand over her mouth. The effect was spoiled by the spikes of laughter that tee-heed their way right up through flesh and bone. And the tears in her eyes. I used to try twirling suddenly 180 degrees, but that soon became transparent.
ReplyDeleteUmmm. I guess I really have to ask this.
Who did win?