Three Tiny Tyrants
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3/3/2019 0 Comments A Small Taste of FreedomIncrementally, nearly without notice, small tokens of freedom have suddenly occurred within these walls. This never-ending winter, for instance, it finally came to me that with a little pre-planning, I could send the trio outside to play without having to suit up myself and treat myself to the sound of silence.
After a full 30 minutes of finding and dressing the three in snow appropriate gear, I give them strict parameters for their snow play: Stay in our backyard. No leaving our backyard. No going in other people's yards. If I say it three different ways, maybe one will stick. After minimal fussing and only fixing one boot and two gloves, the tiny tyrants race outdoors and I plant myself in front of the window to watch and rejoice in the momentary respite. Moments in, the trio discover a giant ice ball and I see Tiny locate a large metal shovel. As he drags it closer to his minions, I wonder if I should stop him. I run the numbers in my head, trying to calculate the risk factor and, ultimately, decide to let it go. I immediately regret my choice. Almost instantly, Tiny raises the shovel shoulder height and slams it down on the ice ball, inches from where Little's gloved hand is holding it. Picturing a future of severed fingers, I leap from my chair to yell at them. Just before I reach the door, nearly as instantly, Tiny discards the shovel and the three find interest elsewhere. I breathe a sigh of relief and head back to my chair, tripping over 16 Transformers scattered on the floor. I pick them up and go back to my watching chair. I scan the dotted landscape and look for the three. One....two....no three. I scan across the yard and count again, Tiny, Little....no Big. I race back to the door, hand on the handle, when a third red hat pops up from behind the woodpile. I decide to stay by the door, relinquishing my comfy chair by the window. At least there is the silence. No sooner do I think it then an ear splitting shriek rings out from the yard. Big stands, covered in snow, dripping down from an obvious snowball to the face, as Tiny, clearly the culprit, scurries away and feigns interest in something on the other side of the yard. Tearfully, Big makes his way to the door to rat out his devious brother. I wipe his face with my shirt and convince him to stay outside, calling to Tiny to apologize or lose his playtime. Tiny chooses the apology route as he stares at the ground and mumbles something akin to "umsuree" and then sprints away. The "umsuree" apology apparently pacifies Big as he stops crying and goes back to digging with his stick. As I head back inside, and turn around, Tiny breaks the one and only rule as he escapes from the backyard. I growl to myself and head to front door to tell him to get back in the yard. Tiny looks at me as though it's the first time he has heard this rule, informs me that I'm "mean" and runs back around the house. Ten minutes later, three saturated snow soldiers march back inside, leaving me with a pile of wet gear to hang up. I think about my great plan for freedom and wonder if it would have been easier to just suit up next time.
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AuthorAnna Christine is a working mother of three boys. She is a teacher, writer, learner, and a fierce advocate for inclusion. Writing is her catharsis for the tough days of parenting. Her writing has appeared on ScaryMommy: Archives
January 2019
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