Three Tiny Tyrants
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5/30/2018 0 Comments For The Love Of WaterAn extended weekend may mean rest and relaxation for some, but for the imprisoned, it means extra time for chores with the "help" of small hands.
As we arrived home from the parade, I excitedly told the trio that we had a job to do expanding and mulching the garden a.k.a. "We get to use a hammer and play in the dirt!" They bought my smooth sales pitch and followed me like ducklings to the car to unload the mulch. Tiny wrestled with the first bag for a full ten minutes whilst I unloaded the rest. He then dropped it two feet from the car, announced he was "tired" and defected off to "water the trees" with the hose. The hose is dangerous territory, but I knew to pick my battles as we were mere minutes into a several hour job. Tiny's version of watering the trees involved shooting a jet of water directly at the tree's bark about 4 feet above ground level. It also involved shooting the jet setting of water directly at the soil at his feet causing dirt to fly everywhere, not excluding his face and eyes. I decided to ignore this and told him not to get himself wet knowing full well the absurdity of my statement. I handed the hammer to Little and the landscaping pins to Big to keep them interested. Over the next 30 minutes, Little proceeded to hammer everything but the garden stakes I held up while Big wandered off with the pins. Little's hammering included a bag of dirt, the fieldstone walkway, the trees and the space two inches away from my foot. I began to reconsider my choice in putting Little on hammer duty. As I shifted gears and began laying the weed guard, I tracked down Big, sitting in a pile of dirt, using the landscaping pins as tiny shovels, bending them in the process. Upon finding some pliars, re-straightening the pins and placing them in the garden, I began to hear screams of agony over by hose, as Big, Little and Tiny struggled over the control of the hose like lions fighting over the last piece of meat. I watched, helplessly, as they rolled around in the pit of mud Tiny had created while watering the trees, and wondered how I would dry out their sneakers in time for school the next day. Tiny, at the advantage by both height and weight, rose victorious from the pit, covered in dirt and proceeded to spray Big and Little without mercy. Punishment for their attempted coup to control the hose. Big and Little, bawling over the injustice, decided to unite to defeat the water dictator. Together, they ran at Tiny, knocking him over and taking control of the hose. Unbeknownst to them, this action inadvertently flipped the auto-on pin, creating a wild hose that no one could control. The three, now united in fear, ran full speed from the hose, as it unstoppably sprayed water everywhere. As I swooped in to the rescue and stood before the dripping, muddied trio, I tersely informed them that they were supposed to be "helping" me and not getting everything wet. They assured me that it was an "accident" that would never happen again. Though I had my doubts on this faulty promise, I was also soclose to finishing my garden project, thus turned a blind eye yet again to the water wastage. Little now decided he wanted to "help" again, so I handed him the zip ties to hold while I used them to attach the fencing to the stakes. Moments later, as I asked him to hand me one, he proudly showed off the zip tie animals he made by zip tying them all together, rendering them useless for my intended purpose. As my eyes made their way from zip tied animals to the current mud pit/ hose fight between Big and Tiny, I decided that a popsicle break was a necessity, both for my sanity as well as the health and safety of the tyrants. With the garden project temporarily on hold, we enjoyed our popsicles on the porch while the trio of complaints about wet clothes and muddy sneakers fell on my deaf ears.
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5/21/2018 0 Comments A Fenceless PrisonThe truth about prison life is that there are no walls keeping you in. One could conceivably walk away at any moment without having to scale a fence or tunnel beneath concrete. The tyrants who rule this place are savvy in the mind tricks they employ to prevent our escape as they morph from ankle biting monkeys on steroids to sweet, doe eyed lop eared bunnies with the flip of a switch.
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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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