Husband (The Pastor) and I were cooking dinner together one
Saturday night, which does not happen often and was only successful because he
had the recipe in his brain and all I had to do was follow his directions. Had
it been the other way around…well, we would not have been such a pastoral
couple in those moments before I threw his ass out of the kitchen, but I
digress.
While we were cooking the kids were supposed to be bathing,
so naturally they were running around the house in various stages of being
undressed. When we heard:
Minion #1 scream at the top of his lungs
“OOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWch!” while hobbling into the kitchen holding his head as
though he had just been wounded in battle. His little brother #2 ran in after
him with a mixed expression of guilt and determination in his giant brown eyes.
#3, naturally, was not far behind, because, well, he goes where the action is.
(Unless of course he was the cause of the action, in which case he will be
mysteriously preoccupied elsewhere.) All three boys stopped one behind the
other causing a cartoon like collision.
They stared.
We waited.
“OOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWch” wailed #1 just in case we hadn’t
heard him before, and also as a nice icebreaker.
Husband spoke using his best “pastor voice” “What can we do
for you?”
It began. Incoherent but insistent voices telling us why
they were victim, or not at fault, while the little one simply shouted nonsense
at the top of his lungs. All three of them finally looked at us, their parents,
the ones in charge, and realized that this was getting them nowhere.
The middle one took the lead. “It’s just,” sigh “It’s
nothing” he shrugged his shoulders and threw his hands in the air to suggest
that this was all just a big waste of everyone’s time. Meanwhile #1 began to
writhe around on the floor as if in unthinkable pain.
It was my turn to speak while trying to hide my amusement,
“I see. Well then, why is your brother screaming like his hair in on fire?”
#2 glanced down at his brother who had temporarily stopped
moaning so as to hear the exchange, shrugged his shoulders again and said with
a tone as though commenting on the weather “Oh that. Well, we were just playing
a game which is called Slap Game…In which you slap each other”
“AND HE HIT ME” #1 wailed.
You can see why in this moment husband and I needed to take
a beat.
We then shooed them out of the kitchen saying things like
“Well what did you expect when you played Slap Game, tickles and kisses?” And
“I don’t have words for you right now. No. Seriously. No words.” And most
importantly “No more slap game.”
Some time passed there was a stillness, almost a peace in the
air, which we tried not to question. Gradually the noise level climbed to a
higher and more respectable level. It took us some time to realize there was
more banging and slamming than we were comfortable with, it was then that…
“OOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWch” (#1 again)
We glanced at each other, we knew that we were outnumbered,
we also knew that our lovely, wonderful second child truly believed that he had
us outwitted, I took the lead “Now what?”
Minion #2 was again ready with his defense “We were not playing Slap Game.”
“That wasn’t my question”
“I see.” Well, it’s just…we were playing another game.” He
turned and started to walk out of the kitchen as if expecting me to say Oh, ok, cool. No worries then, carry on.
I didn’t say that.
“What was the game?”
He turned on his heels, a winning smile in place “A game
which is called Take Turns”.
“Take Turns doing what?”
“Ummmm, well, we were just taking turns chasing each udder
into the bathroom and then slamming the door in each udders face and then the
udder guy slams into the door with his face.”
The thing about that night was… It Was Awesome. Husband and
I loved every minute of it. I don’t know that we had laughed that hard since we
saw the movie Sisters. There are
moments of parenting that absolutely suck, and honestly, on a different day or
with a different mood for just one of us, that night could have been one of our
“Dear God, why did you send us these children?” moments. But it just so happened
that we allowed it to be what it was, just another Saturday night at the
Silva-Noah house.
