Mother’s Little Helper

The new campaign got off to a faulty start, [translation = dry at night and pull up free] but since then we have regrouped with the master plan. [translation = guaranteed success]

No expense has been spared. [translation = gross extravagance] The new game for the Wii [translation = computery thing] has been bound in many inextricable layers of see through tape and been strapped to the wall above his pillow. It is stuck there in what we hope is a tantalizing manner. [translation = constant source of torture] The ladder chart accompanies it. [translation = visual tracking system] All parties present have been debriefed on the de-pull-up plan. [translation = to provide moral reinforcement] Seven consecutive dry nights and the game will be up and the prize will be his.

We note that all youthful parties present are equally anxious that he should succeed in his mission. [translation = true joint attention] The only malingerer is me. I find it ironic that he has already achieved this goal a couple of year ago, but since that time, this skill has fallen by the wayside. My conclusion, though not necessarily a correct one, is that back then, his OCD was of such gargantuan proportions, that he was unable to tolerate his derrier being damp. If this is the case, then it might be reasonable to assume that his OCD has lessened, or possibly that he is too fatigued from the struggles of the day, to be bothered with such trifles at night? Despite these doubts, we soldier onwards and hopefully upwards.

Later, on this same first night, I am awoken by what sounds like a baseball coach in my bathroom. I find my youngest son sitting on the throne, [translation = loo] with his older brother close at hand, shouting things. [translation = taking turns is a challenge at night] I take both sleepy boys back to bed and tuck them in. I return to my own bedroom and pass out again. Some 55 minutes later, I am awoken by mutterings in the bathroom. I again find both my boys closeted. I return them to their beds, tuck them in, fumble my way back in the dark to my own bed and collapse.

We repeat this exercise throughout the night. By 5 minutes past five, I give up and decide that I will be awake. I follow the voice back to the bathroom.
“What’s going on dear?” I ask the one who speaks, as I steady the prince on the throne, who appears to have passed out, floppy with closed eyes.
“You said!” he offers.
“What did I say dear?”
“You said I am dah big brother!”
“Indeed you are dear.”
“Well.”
“Well what dear?”
“Well……er……..I am dah big brother!”
“I know that dear, but what are you doing up in the middle of the night?”
“I am dah helper!”
“Yes, indeed you are, you’re very helpful, but wouldn’t it be a better idea to get some sleep?”
“You said!” I decide to shut up, as I’m not helping. I remember to count to 15 and include ‘ands’ to permit his word retrieval system to kick in without constant interruptions from his mother.
“You said…….dat I am dah big brother……and I am to be a helper to him!” he throws an accusatory finger at the inert body. “So I tell him…..’you can do it, I know you can…..come on….try, try, try again’……just like you say.” I lift the body, flip him over my shoulder and walk towards their bedroom, whilst his brother skips ahead of us. “I done good? I am a good reminderer?” he enquires with enthusiasm. “Er……yes……you did great, you are a very helpful big brother. How many times did you remind him dear?”
“I dun know, but lots!” I plop his little brother upon the bed and he instantly curls up like a prawn, still asleep, bare from the waist down.

“You know somethink?” sparks the awake one. [translation = voluntary reciprocal exchange]
“No, what?” No words are forthcoming. He points and the words flow with the gesture, “on his……er……..but……he has a big……red……elipse.” [translation = ‘oval’ would do!] The imprint of the toilet seat is unmistakable. I wonder how many minutes during the last 10 hours, he has been parked like a rag doll? This crowning glory provides visual evidence of a campaign trail, which already appears to be floundering. [translation = fatal flaw not accounted for]

But my list of "failures" continues to "grow."