![]() ![]() ![]() He’s dragging the whole, bulk Angel Soft discount package by its tattered cellophane coattails, pounding my wood floors with his war-drum feet as he scurries away. Just as I turn around to get more toilet paper, a dry linty roll smacks my open mouth and cakes my ape grin with parched cotton. He thinks he can block me, but no mere human can stop my tissue torrent once it takes flight. Then I run off, cackling, and pelt Firstborn in the belly and arms. I grab another toilet paper roll and fling it at his chest. “But, Mom,” he whimpers, unsure if I’m the same indentured servant who cooks his dinners. Middleborn gives a look like he’s been abandoned and betrayed the face of an orphan, dumpster-diving in the London rain. I rear back and hurl the roll, whacking Middleborn in the same muscle where he shot me with the Nerf dart moments earlier. I run to the living room with six toilet paper rolls cradled in one arm and another in my throwing hand. ![]() I march into the bathroom and plunge my fingers through the taut cellophane of a toilet paper package, ripping a fresh roll out. What would happen if I … MADE the ruckus? But that was also when I had a strange epiphany: The more time I spend fighting the ruckus, the more stressed I become. There’s no way for me to fight it.Ī Nerf dart, that is. Then he runs outside screaming, “Hallelujah, the beast is DOWN.” He ducks, lurches forward and headbutts Firstborn in the gut, knocking him to the ground. “Hiiiyyya!” bellows Little-Feisty, stabbing Firstborn’s soft exposed knee pit.įirstborn lets Big-Sweet out of the hold and swivels to face Little-Feisty with both fists in the air.īut Little-Feisty is too smart for that nonsense. Little does Firstborn know, a skinny ninja approaches from behind, bearing a plastic sword in one hand and a pillow in the other. “If I can still talk it means I’m not suffocating.” “Hi, Mom,” beams Big-Sweet from the armpit. He’s clenching the big, sweet twin’s head in a hold under his right armpit. “Y’all should go outside and sled,” I offer. Surely their days are as full as mine? Why wouldn’t they want to come home and relax, maybe hear others’ thoughts? What I can’t figure, I tell the suds, is how the boys have the energy to act like this. I hunch over a sink full of greasy dishes, muttering into the suds. The only thing that could cause more mayhem at a country home is a dragon – but all the dragons are too scared to face us. Middleborn escapes by riding a skateboard through someone’s Lego city. Firstborn teaches a combat class and kicks all his students. “I didn’t try to punch you, I tried to POUND you.” “Aaao“He tried to punch me!” shouts Firstborn. Middleborn, outraged, hammers his peachy little fist down toward Firstborn’s thigh, but Firstborn knocks it away with a ninja chop to the wrist. “Well, no one would even LOOK at your clone,” says Firstborn. He wonders whether his girl clone would slam the toilet lid like a war cannon and eat all the beef jerky when no one’s watching. “That’s ’cuz no one else WOULD,” snaps Middleborn.įirstborn considers this. “If scientists made a clone of you that was a girl, would you date her?” “Hey,” says Firstborn, elbowing Middleborn in the ribs. Those four boys bring the rage, rolling home from school like an Irish street gang ready to club someone with their lunchboxes. ***For All Things Wyoming, Sign-Up For Our Daily Newsletter***īy Clair McFarland, you have to make your own ruckus. ![]()
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