I love messing with my boys. I love it when they mess with me.

 

I always win.

 

Jacob has been having a bad week. Things just haven't been going well for him. By the end of each day, he feels low and hopeless.

 

His Rx for a lift of spirits is to mess with Mom. So he teases and torments and does a teen-boy kind of chuckle that just asks for trouble.

 

And I hand it back to him in spades.  I wait till he isn't looking and wrestle and tickle him to the ground then sit on his stomach and kiss his face while his brothers watch and enjoy the fact that *someone* got Jacob down.

 

Last night, Jacob needed an awful lot of cheering up, so he was taken down a number of times.  The last time, I kissed his face so much he won't have to wash it for a week.  Solomon stood over him and laughed his great belly laugh and hit his knees and thoroughly enjoyed the "Taking Down Of Jacob".

 

Jacob went to bed cheered.

 

Solomon woke up inspired.

 

I had oatmeal cooking on the stove and was in the living room trying to get Abe changed.

 

"Mom! Mom!" Solomon yelled in a panicked voice. "There's something wrong! I think it's on fire!"

 

I ran into the kitchen to find Solomon standing by the stove, giggling and snorting.

 

Assuming he must need some cheering up, I took him down.

 

Now my boys are getting older and bigger. And stronger. Actually, at this point, they could probably take me down.

 

But their father has instructed them that they are to protect me and to never...never...NEVER hurt me. Not even by accident.

 

So, they really have no recourse.  When I come after them,. there is a very big, potentially furious man standing behind me. If not in reality, then certainly in their imagination.

 

So I took strong Sol down to the floor and called to the children to run get Jacob so he could enjoy watching Solomon get his just desserts.

 

And Jacob enjoyed it, slapping his knee and chortling the Jacob chortle.

 

After I washed his face thoroughly, I let Solomon up and went back to finish changing Abraham.

 

And...can you believe this??...a few moments later I hear Sol yelling, "Mom? I really think something is wrong! I'm serious!"

 

I tiptoe to the dining room and peek into the kitchen to make sure everything is fine.

 

And it is.

 

And I wait. Quietly. Not saying a word. Hiding behind the dining room wall.

 

A few minutes later I hear, "Oh! Sorry. That was a mistake. Nothing wrong in here. Mom? Mom?! I'm sorry! Seriously! Forgive me!"

 

I wait. Quietly Not saying a word.

 

A minute passes by. "Please. I'm sorry! Everything is fine! I'm getting ready to clean the kitchen for you! Really!"

 

I wait. Quietly. Not saying a word.

 

A minute passes by. And I hear a scream and running feet and the back door slamming as Solomon runs out barefoot into the very cold morning.

 

I do my own chortle and go lock the back door. Then I lock all the doors but the front door and station myself behind it.

 

And I wait. Quietly. Not saying a word.

 

The children are on the couch, looking out the front window at Solomon as he walks back and forth, rides a bike for a moment, rides a scooter on the porch, all the while yelling, "Someone help me! My mom is going to get me! Help! Help! Please forgive me, Mom! I'm hungry! Puh-leeeeese someone help me!"

 

The neighbors know us. No worries there.

 

I tell the children to go get their oatmeal and turn on a movie. This might take some time.

 

"Can we eat on the couch so we can watch?" Mahala asks. She likes for us to slow down when we drive by accidents on the road so she can see better.

 

"Sure," I say, believing this to be one of those invaluable teaching moments.

 

Sol gets on a bike and rides up and down the walk-way, pretending to cry very loudly, every once in a while interjecting a "Please help me somebody! My life is in her hands! She's a cruel, cruel woman! My feet are cold. Oh, nobody knows the trouble I've seen. Nobody knows my sorrows."

 

Snort.

 

I'm drinking lots and lots of water, readying up my kisser, waiting for him to figure out that his bedroom window is cracked.

 

I wait. Quietly. Not saying a word.

 

Nyah ha ha ha.

 

***********************************************

 

I finally let him in with a promise that I would not touch him for 3 hours. The boy had to eat and the concrete was cold. I'm a merciful person at heart.

 

You should hear the screams start at about 12:30 p.m. Pacific Standard Time.

 

Bwa ha ha ha ha.