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Let’s Just Be Honest…On Retribution and LEGOs

January 27, 2014

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There are moments when my children make me crazy. Crrrrazzzzy. 

Hair all over the floor moments. Lots of moments.

There are Sundays when my favorite part of the worship service is dropping my Dimpled Dictator off at Children’s Worship. (“Dropping Off” might actually mean “thrusting in and running away.”} Take him! He’s yours! I might not come back! 

Every year I take both kids to camp, and spend the week up there working. I secretly envy the parents who are bringing their children up on Sunday afternoon…and leaving them there. They try to look sad, those parents, they really do. Their children are forlorn and fearful, while mom and dad are trying to suppress the grins. At least they wait till the kids are out of sight before they sprint towards the gate.

They aren’t always so precious, these little beasties of mine.

Sometimes I tell them they have to go outside and run laps around our cul-de-sac. Five of them, at least, before they can come home again.

Sometimes I tell them they have to go outside and play and can’t come back inside for at least 45 minutes.

Sometimes I go to the bathroom and sneak a book or my phone in with me, just for 15 minutes of quiet and privacy and a few rounds of WWF before they notice and start hammering on the door.

And sometimes, they step on a LEGO. They scream. They howl. They hop around in agony, and sometimes (okay, often)…I kind of giggle.

I know. I know. But really, how many have I stepped on?! How many have embedded themselves in my heel in the dark of night?! How many times have I hopped around in agony, stifling my howls into a pillow lest I wake the hoodlums from their sweet sound sleep?

They are kind of retributional, those LEGOs. They don’t discriminate. The LEGOs prey upon the just and unjust alike. They take no prisoners; they leave no man behind.

A short-term solution to the long-term curse “I hope your kids are just like you!”

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