We’re at War, Here

I hate to use trite cliches.

But living with little kids is like going into battle.

Fighting enemy forces day after day…

in a war…

that you’ll never win.

Here on the good-guy side, the troops are worn out, fatigued, and losing hope of a victory. Yesterday, I came this close to hoisting the white flag.

Rations were dwindling. No food and no energy to replenish supplies.

Martin and I were outnumbered, and calls for reinforcements have been ignored for weeks. (Hey, thanks Obama and Congress for hijacking Mom every weekend with the debt ceiling debate!)

We were out of food, out of reinforcements, sleep deprived and wounded from stepping on toys. But still we hung on.

And each time the enemy sensed we were gaining ground, they’d unleash their secret weapon:


She’d scale the stairs and, with a smirk, threaten to step off the top. All the while, those Frankenstein stitches in her forehead taunted us in a sing-song voice: “You better come get me….I’ve already split my head open once… and if you’re not careful, I’ll do it againnnn……”

Sunday at 11 am, I thought that the best thing I could do was rest. Take a quick nap, recharge the batteries and come back swinging. I put the secret weapon in her crib and planned to hide in my bed. But that thumping downstairs…what was that thumping?

Hadley was in the kitchen, eating a huge stack of Chips-ahoy cookies. Cookies at 11 am. The thumping was Martin, who was stuck in the fireplace room; Cayden had pulled the wooden pocket doors off the runners and Martin was trapped inside.

I knew I shouldn’t leave a man down. Never leave a soldier behind! But I crept up behind the Barbarian, and palmed two cookies (I was hungry, too). Then I ran up to the bedroom and shut the door.

Postscript: The good-guys reclaimed lost ground — we cleaned the house and bought groceries. Even replenished beer supplies. But the kids still shelled the house. They broke one of the kitchen tiles.

How in the hell did they do that? I suspect that they overturned a kitchen stool.

But I’ll never know.

The enemy never talks.