I am standing in my kitchen hand-washing all dishes in spite of the empty dishwasher at my side beckoning my attention. It is 10 pm and my 6 year-old daughter is talking “privately” on the phone with her older sister, 9, who’s away from us with Papa till the end of July.
In a Jack from Three’s Company slapstick way, I’m all knotted up while straining to “eavesdrop” upon their "hushed" conversation as I ridiculously have the faucet open to allow the passing of no more than a steady stream of large drops to fall lest the sound drown out my already “disadvantaged hearing system” and keep me from picking up a few juicy confessions.
Almost in a trancelike state, I’m delighting in the blessing that both of these gorgeous little creatures had emerged from my womb and are the best of friends. Thank God they have each other and are such loyal companions. I had brothers, but never a sister with whom to share everything- from Barbies to clothes, crushes and stories. Life is beautiful. These are the treasured fruits of parenthood- make it all worth it.
Suddenly my “other real life” calls and my 45 seconds of parental bliss- that comes on average once every 4 months- is violently interrupted as I remember the two hyper boy-cubs impatiently awaiting my return for another session of “tickles.” The harrowing sound of their constant howls from the bedroom brings me back to my “senses” and I make my way toward their room to fulfil my promise.
Nope. They beat me to it. Like a bolt of lightening, they both appear, sweating profusely, hysterically crying, screaming and arguing. All at once.
I just left them five minutes ago, both resting quietly in their respective beds- side by side, drifting off…
What the heck happened? Why is this heavy mattress hanging off the bed-frame?
Did an axe-murderer suddenly enter through their window?
It’s never a dull moment- nothing less than the most histrionic Mexican soap opera you could image.
And then I see him.
My kids know that if you throw some blood into the mix, it bumps the take-you-seriously level up a notch. Everyone knows- if someone’s bleeding, mommy’s going to pay attention...finally.
So, I instructed the 5 year-old pre-adolescent bully-bleeder-drama king to lie back on a few pillows on the floor, while I ran and got some ice and tissues. Within 5 minutes we had it all under control- bloody nose had ceased and he was clean. Continuing with my ER doctor tone, I told him he better go straight to bed with a stiff head propped up like Frankenstein and not to interact in any way with his brother for the blood would start flowing again. He took me seriously and obliged. One down.
The other one was told that his bleeding-brother was “injured” and had to be still or guilty-little-brother could provoke another nose eruption. He bought the theory and settled down. No tickles necessary.
Went back to “wash the dishes” and imperceptibly tried to steal a few more moments of parenting heaven.