Lucky They Survived

I am a single parent again. T went off for more training in Austin yesterday, though luckily just until Thursday this time. So I was by myself for dinnertime this evening. We were having a pleasant meal (chicken in garlic sauce with pasta) that met with everyone's approval. As we were finishing up the meal, nature called.

I hustled off to the bathroom secure in the knowledge that Q was trapped, I mean strapped in his chair and could not do any harm to himself or others. Z has been so well behaved for the last several days that I was beginning to wonder where my daughter went.

Shows what I know. She's baaa-aack! Evil Z flew in on her broom with her sidekick Cruel Q close behind while I was on the pot. I heard them fussing at each other, but thought little of it. When I came around the corner to the kitchen, Z jumped back and couldn't start talking fast enough.

"Qstabbedthetablewithhisforkandthenhescratcheditup!!"

It took a second for my Evil-to-English translator to understand the meaning: Q stabbed the table with his fork and then scratched it up. Before the translation even had time to register, the proof was right there before my eyes.

When we moved to Wester, the kids started using regular utensils. (I figured it would improve their meat/veg stabbing abilities, which it did.) Unfortunately, the stabbing skill seems to also apply to antique Duncan Phyfe formal dining room tables that have been pressed into service as kitchen tables because we don't have a formal dining room in this house and the steel and glass breakfast table can go on the screen porch. (My brain was screaming, "See? See, T? This is why we needed a casual table for the dining area even though the formal one fits just fine. See?!?)

I scooped a very startled Q out of his seat, gave his rump a swat and deposited his crying self in his room with the instructions not to come out. Lather, rinse, repeat when I came back to the kitchen and further examined the damage. I saw that even though Z was quick to point the finger at her brother, there were stab wounds on parts of the table only she could reach. Off to her room with her.

At this point, I call T to simmer down and complain about the trials of parenting while flipping through the Yellow Pages looking for the local gypsies to come take my beasties children away. Once I had calmed down, I decided that even though bed time was hours away and it was full light outside, the children needed to go to bed NOW.

I didn't even let them come out to brush their teeth. I brought their toothbrushes to their rooms with no-fluoride toothpaste so they didn't have to spit or rinse. Brush, book, bed in ten minutes flat. No singing or tickle fights. I did tell them that even when I was mad - and I was MAD - I still loved them.

Sometimes it is just a little more difficult.