Sun - Do not pass go

We chat in the car on the way home from school. The boys chant their respective repetitive phrases, one sotto voce, one at 50 decibels, but we’re used to that kind of competitive perseveration.

“So tell me the best bit about today then, so far of course?”
“We had a visitor come and read us this book thing.”
“Innernet! Innernet! Innernet!”
“Batteries not included. Batteries not included. Batteries not included.”
“Oh really. Which book?”
“I dunno.”
“Innernet! Innernet! Innernet!”
“Batteries not included. Batteries not included. Batteries not included.”
“But you liked it?”
“Not really.”
“Then why was that the best bit of the day if you didn’t like the story?”
“Innernet! Innernet! Innernet!”
“Batteries not included. Batteries not included. Batteries not included.”
“Coz it made math short.” Typical
“Do you have much in the way of homework tonight?”
“Yeah. Tonnes and I don’t know how I’m gonna get it all done with these two.”
“Oh they’ll quieten down a bit once we’re home.”
“Innernet! Innernet! Innernet!”
“Batteries not included. Batteries not included. Batteries not included.”
“They’re better!” she warns with a hint of menace. I watch her in the rear view mirror as she glares at each of them in turn, a loaded and meaningful stare, the eye ball to eye ball kind that only big sisters can do effectively.
“You’re both gonna have to shut up right. D’you remember? Got it!” I notice that they both cover their mouths with their hands at the same time, as if some secret message has passed between them that I am not party to.
“Got it!” she repeats, just to be on the safe side. Muffled mutterings of ‘no, no, no,’ spittle out between their fingers.
“What’s that dear?” I prompt, hoping that someone might just give me a little clue as to what is really going on.
“It’s a new rule.”
“A new rule? What new rule?” Who is making up rules without my permission? I am the only rule maker and campaign manager around here.
“If you’re too loud you go to jail.”
“Jail? That seems a bit draconian?” I’m amazed that the trigger word ‘jail’ hasn’t set them both off into meltdown land.
“Well it works,” she pouts. I check in the mirror again. I’m not sure if fear is a good method of behaviour modification? Their eyes are like saucers.
“Even so, we need to ere on the side of truth.”
“It is true.”
“Who says it is true?”
“The new baby sitter.” Hmm. I did think that it was much quieter than usual when I returned from the dentist yesterday. My mouth was in no condition to have the usual de-brief session with an adult, as to the goings on during my hour and a half’s absence. The peace does not appear to be quite so mysterious afterall.



I picture him in my minds eye, the new baby sitter, roped in at short notice. A jovial young man, quick to laugh with an effusive smile. I wonder if he realized that his sense of humour might be different from theirs? A literal mind can be a tantalizingly tortuous thing.



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The Pet Police

I have decided that the evils of television may not be quite as bad as I am prone to preach about. The children have discovered ‘Animal Planet,’ a channel showing non stop wild life of every kind. There is a particular programme [translation = show] where abused animals and their misfortunes are displayed. The RSPCA [translation = Humane Society?] have been dubbed the ‘pet police’ by my offspring, all of them. Yes, it's a joint venture. They discussed it amongst themselves, and when the 'moment comes' they all shout 'send for the pet police.' Really gladdens a mother's heart to see her children working with one accord for a common goal.
Additionally, this has given me a new and powerful weapon against the ever growing developmental progress that they keep making when I'm not paying attention. 'Be nice to cats/ pets/ snails/ living creatures of any kind or I'll call the pet police!" It's my new mantra. I use it often, even when it's not strictly applicable - don't bite the leg on that plastic bear or I'll call the pet police!'
'But it's a toy, a plastic toy!"
"Don't argue with me, it's the principal that counts."
"What will the pet police do?" I think carefully, as I don't want to get this the wrong way around and have to pay for a few decades of trauma therapy for them all. "WEll, if you're mean to animals then the pet police come and take the pets away and give them to someone else who will love them properly.' I pause for breath and to run a quick inventory in case I have mis-spoken in my longer than usual, completely off the cuff spiel. Three pairs of saucer eyes indicate that I was about right.

I know that I'm over doing a good thing, but it works so well! It's so effective and get instant positive results. It's hard to resist. After a few days, I can tell that the magic of the words is beginning to wear off. I retreat muttering to myself about 'consumer over - use,' and 'come to think of it, as the responsible adult I think they’d cart me away first.” I mutter to no-one in particular, although of course that is the phrase that everyone hears and understands all too clearly, despite the speech delays and the auditory processing difficulties. “What do you mean?” she asks, her face a study of incredulity.
“What? What! Oh what? Well, if any of you do anything wrong, you are all under 18, which means that you are not adults, which means that I am responsible if you do something wrong.”
“You mean you’d go to jail,” she gasps. I think hard for a nano second before answering “yes.” I am still in two minds about that answer, which I know will come back to bite me.

When it comes back to bite me within the hour, “go on! Phone them, phone them, I want them to come and take you away,” in joint response to a refusal to do one’s share of tidying up, and the prospect of a mother free evening, I am more than ready. “Oh bliss I get to spend the whole night in pet prison with all the lovely cats, dogs, bunnies and guinea pigs and no horrible children.” A little underhand, I know, but the effect is electrifying. “You can’t go, we’ll be all alone, you have to stay with us!”
“Oh no I don’t, I’m of to prison with the animals, I can hardly wait.” A tad cruel but she speaks on behalf of the junior members of the family as a collective.
“You don’t know the number!” she sneers, the one that is always emblazoned across the television screen.

“Oh yes I do, it’s 408 626 8859.”
“What it’s nearly the same as ours!”
"That's right, we want the local branch not Detroit or Houston!'
“You’re making it up, you’re faking, you’re lying.”
“See you later alligator! Oooh, I wonder if they have any alligators there too?”
“I hope it eats you!”
“Excuse me, I need to use the phone.”
“Oh no you don’t!” She rips the cable from the wall.


“Your choice dear! Tidy or bye bye?"