I have a few simple rules for my kids: Do what I've asked the first time. Do NOT put me on the spot when asking to do something. Do NOT speak over/ argue with me. I will be reasonable and give you a chance to speak, but it won't always affect my decision. Don't EVER EVER EVER let me get to three.
I suppose I've let the cat out of the bag on this one. It's okay. It shocked me like a penny in a socket.
My son was doing his homework. Good boy. He was going through and picking up his stuff. Hmmmm. What do you want? He told me. "I LOVE you Mommy." -Okay, cut to the chase Pal. I didn't just fall off the turnip truck. Well, he wants to play with his friend. Okay, his chores are done, his homework is complete and neat and correct. I can't see any reason to be an evil sea witch and I say "Sure."
So our extra little indian wanders in. (Little did I know he had been hanging around hiding in my piano room until I said "yes") He begins by chasing Winston then whining that Winston is playing too rough. I take Winston into the other room. He continues by taunting Winston at the window. Winston barks and gets in trouble. I shoo the indians outside.
I hear a steady thumping and realize they are playing a racket-ball type game against my new garage doors (complete with cute little windows). They graduate to a competition of HOW HARD they can throw the ball. I go out and ask them to stop; explaining why. My little extra indian has much to say:
"We won't hit the windooooows" says Extra Indian.
"Please don't do it. You might dent the doors with that ball. It's very hard"
"We WON'T dent the doors." he chuffs and rolls his eyes.
"Please don't do it. I've asked once. This is twice. Besides, it's raining and I don't want you to get soggy. Come on in and you can play in the basement."
"We don't want to COME IN. We like to PLAY-- IN-- THE-- RAAAAIIIIIN!!!!" He is rosy cheeked from yelling at me and I am pretty certain he has sprained his elbows in the flapping tantrum he has thrown in front of my son and home. That's three.
Benjamin bolts, leaving Extra Indian standing in the driveway in the wake of a skinny trail of smoke. I swear I heard that gunslinger music going....My upper lip feels tingly and my teeth are tight. I lick my lips and interlace my fingers to keep Extra Indian safe. I take a step back.
"Benjamin took the ball. Game's over. You two can find something else to do."
"I don't want to DO anything else." he sneers.
"Maybe you can play at your house." I am grasping at straws, almost panting. My son is peeking through the crack in the door. I can only see his eye and it is the size of my fist.
"I guess." and he heads in to fetch Ben.
We walk in together and I ask Ben to meet me in my office. I have a couple of words to say privately. Extra Indian walks around and spies on us through the French doors and as I'm telling Ben what time I expect him home, Extra Indian is speaking over me through the latch:
"I want you home at five O'clock."
"But I don't have to leave until 5:30! That's not fair! He can stay longer."
"Please don't eat anymore snacks. We'll have dinner around six."
"But I'm hungry now and I want Ben to eat over MY HOUSE."
"Please be polite and remember Thank you's and manners."
"That's STUPID. We're just playing."
My son is stirring my carpet nervously with his shoe. He is uncertain if I will pounce on Extra Indian or just pop him since he is standing so close by....
"you may go." I sigh
"HURRRRY UPPPPP! I wanna go already!"
I can hardly see. I have almost ground my teeth to the gums. My eyes are burning and there is a tightening of my throat that can only be the bloody curdling screech of "SHUT YOUR MOUTH! JUST SHUT IT!" I gently pat my son's bum and trail out behind them across the drive to Extra Indian's house.
As they cross the driveway, Extra Indian launches that bloomin ball once more...with a little extra pepper to make his point to me. I happened to be standing in the perfect spot at the perfect time. I caught it. One handed. He gasped, put his head down and kept walking.
"Don't mess with my Mom" Ben said quietly. "She always wins."
Extra Indian mutters something.
"PARDON?" I say bouncing the ball thickly. He turns and I juggle it between my hands. I confess, I want to do it. But I don't.
"I didn't say anything." he almost whispers and they trail off.
That's a first. I thought to myself.
Better days and stronger martinis.
Have one of each in my name and I'll see you next time.
