I heard a hum. My cellphone? I picked it up … nothing. It stopped.
I unloaded a few more dishes from the dishwasher. Did I hear it again? Yes, humming. I looked around on the kitchen counter. It stopped.
What was humming? Stuck my ear to the refrigerator … nope. I walked around the whole kitchen with my ear tilted up, jutting out just past my shoulder, eyes closed … as if I could hear better that way. It stopped.
I went back to doing the dishwasher. Hhhhuuuuuummmmmmmmmm … then a bump.
The boys. The boys were supposed to be watching Micky Mouse while I cleaned up the breakfast mess made by five different children eating, at a minimum, five different breakfasts. I could literally run my dishwasher after every meal and it would probably work more efficiently that way … but I prefer to cram as much in there as humanly possible. I get a small thrill from challenging my appliances, including but not limited to, my washing machine and, especially, the dishwasher.
Hhhhuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmm.
What the hell is making that noise? A quick look told me that the twins were not watching Micky Mouse. I called for them … a sweet, sing-songy beckoning ... “Thing One …. Thing Two ….” … Nothing.
I called a little louder. “Hey Boy-eees … Where are you?” … Nothing.
I called a little louder and a little more urgently. “Boys! Get in here!” … Nothing.
I went to the bottom of the stairs … in my angry voice, “Are you up there?” … Nothing.
Hhhhuuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmm. Bump.
<<<<>>>>>
I walked around to the back of the island and opened the cabinet door. Stuffed in the cabinet and looking oh, so guilty … my twins. Nothing seemed amiss though. “Get out of there.” They climbed out slowly, but then raced into the den and dove behind the sofa. Suspicious, at best, I thought and walked over towards their hiding place. I put one knee on the cushion and then the other … I peered over the back of the sofa …
Looking down on them crouched between the sofa and the wall … all I could see was the top of their heads. B I N G O! The humming … I finally figured out what was making the humming sound. The boys looked like a couple of mangy, little dogs … hair sticking up here and no hair over there. The tops of their little heads were covered with shaved spots and behind one of their backs, I could see the clippers I had used that morning to trim my oldest son’s hair that had grown out over his ears … a personal pet peeve of mine.
I sighed that mother-in-distress sigh and flopped down on the sofa. I couldn’t decide if I was furious or if I was going to laugh. I couldn’t decide if it was their fault or mine. I couldn’t decide if they were being naughty or if they were just engaging in wonderful, imagination play, with an unfortunate healthy dose of reality. Good or bad? Funny or not … funny looking for sure. Should I throw a fit and play the “time-out” card or should I try something else … ((( yes, they were still hiding behind the sofa ))).
The fact that they were still back there let me know that they knew perfectly well that they had done something wrong ... but I still hadn’t decided that it was all that wrong. I took the clippers, explained that they belonged to me and that they were never to touch them again … something I had never really done or thought I had to do … and I put the clippers away. Then some cutie-patooty, singing blue birds flew down and trimmed their hair with magic scissors until they looked like perfect little picture-frame insert models.
Okay … it didn’t really go that way. I threw a hissy fit. I freaked out. I wanted justice! How was I going to show my face at WalMart or Target or the library? I could shave their heads myself .. I
do have the tools … I could take them to the barber shop … so everyone could judge me for not knowing that my kids were shaving each other’s heads exactly 5 feet from where I was standing and I knew nothing about it … or …
I could just leave it like that … just leave their little barbed heads the way they were. They didn’t seem to care a bit. So that’s what I did. I just left it and I guess we’ll go get a haircut after it grows out a little … maybe I’ll just say they had bubblegum in their hair and I had to cut it out … maybe they will just wear stocking hats until after Christmas … we’ll just have to wait and see.
I unloaded a few more dishes from the dishwasher. Did I hear it again? Yes, humming. I looked around on the kitchen counter. It stopped.
What was humming? Stuck my ear to the refrigerator … nope. I walked around the whole kitchen with my ear tilted up, jutting out just past my shoulder, eyes closed … as if I could hear better that way. It stopped.
I went back to doing the dishwasher. Hhhhuuuuuummmmmmmmmm … then a bump.
The boys. The boys were supposed to be watching Micky Mouse while I cleaned up the breakfast mess made by five different children eating, at a minimum, five different breakfasts. I could literally run my dishwasher after every meal and it would probably work more efficiently that way … but I prefer to cram as much in there as humanly possible. I get a small thrill from challenging my appliances, including but not limited to, my washing machine and, especially, the dishwasher.
Hhhhuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmm.
What the hell is making that noise? A quick look told me that the twins were not watching Micky Mouse. I called for them … a sweet, sing-songy beckoning ... “Thing One …. Thing Two ….” … Nothing.
I called a little louder. “Hey Boy-eees … Where are you?” … Nothing.
I called a little louder and a little more urgently. “Boys! Get in here!” … Nothing.
I went to the bottom of the stairs … in my angry voice, “Are you up there?” … Nothing.
Hhhhuuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmm. Bump.
<<<<>>>>>
I walked around to the back of the island and opened the cabinet door. Stuffed in the cabinet and looking oh, so guilty … my twins. Nothing seemed amiss though. “Get out of there.” They climbed out slowly, but then raced into the den and dove behind the sofa. Suspicious, at best, I thought and walked over towards their hiding place. I put one knee on the cushion and then the other … I peered over the back of the sofa …
Looking down on them crouched between the sofa and the wall … all I could see was the top of their heads. B I N G O! The humming … I finally figured out what was making the humming sound. The boys looked like a couple of mangy, little dogs … hair sticking up here and no hair over there. The tops of their little heads were covered with shaved spots and behind one of their backs, I could see the clippers I had used that morning to trim my oldest son’s hair that had grown out over his ears … a personal pet peeve of mine.
I sighed that mother-in-distress sigh and flopped down on the sofa. I couldn’t decide if I was furious or if I was going to laugh. I couldn’t decide if it was their fault or mine. I couldn’t decide if they were being naughty or if they were just engaging in wonderful, imagination play, with an unfortunate healthy dose of reality. Good or bad? Funny or not … funny looking for sure. Should I throw a fit and play the “time-out” card or should I try something else … ((( yes, they were still hiding behind the sofa ))).
The fact that they were still back there let me know that they knew perfectly well that they had done something wrong ... but I still hadn’t decided that it was all that wrong. I took the clippers, explained that they belonged to me and that they were never to touch them again … something I had never really done or thought I had to do … and I put the clippers away. Then some cutie-patooty, singing blue birds flew down and trimmed their hair with magic scissors until they looked like perfect little picture-frame insert models.
Okay … it didn’t really go that way. I threw a hissy fit. I freaked out. I wanted justice! How was I going to show my face at WalMart or Target or the library? I could shave their heads myself .. I
do have the tools … I could take them to the barber shop … so everyone could judge me for not knowing that my kids were shaving each other’s heads exactly 5 feet from where I was standing and I knew nothing about it … or …I could just leave it like that … just leave their little barbed heads the way they were. They didn’t seem to care a bit. So that’s what I did. I just left it and I guess we’ll go get a haircut after it grows out a little … maybe I’ll just say they had bubblegum in their hair and I had to cut it out … maybe they will just wear stocking hats until after Christmas … we’ll just have to wait and see.
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