Tuesday, June 3, 2008

The Hypnotic Powers Of Donna Reed

Yesterday I called Tee, mother of Fiddle and Faddle, to go over the details of my not having a car this week. Let me say that for all the numerous manifest good things about Tee and her family, organization is not one of them. Not even a little bit. So, upon mention of the possible Tuesday schedule, the conversation goes:

Tee: Oh, well, the boys have a half day anyway.
Me: Really?
Tee: Yup.
Me: You know you have to tell me this stuff, right?
Tee: YES! I just, you know, it gets lost.

OK, moving on. Having established that I have the guys for approximately five-and-a-half hours I begin reviewing my options. Usually I make some good plans for entertainment and activities, but I was swamped and the short notice and lack of a car conspired against such good planning.

In the end I decided we would just go with the flow. I had done a bunch of laundry and had a subsequent pile of ironing to get through. Fiddle and Faddle both surrounded me and the ironing board, staring in fascination.

Faddle: How do you do that?
Me: Iron?
Faddle: uh-huh
Me: Demonstration, explanation
Faddle: Can I do it?
Me: You betcha. Don't burn yourself. Here's how you don't burn yourself (demonstration). Don't drop the iron on your foot or leave it on the edge of the ironing board so that it falls on your foot. Now, go!

Faddle irons. Faddle irons well! Go, Faddle!
Fiddle irons. Fiddle irons well! Go, Fiddle!

After much fun was had with the iron, the hissing steam and the spraying nozzle I take back control of the ironing. The boys are forced into doing their homework. Faddle is a pain in the ass. He was up late the night before and is overtired. He is whining, complaining, carping and bothering his brother.

Me: Faddle, what is your dang issue?
Faddle: Idunnowhatever.
Me: Can I get you something to eat, drink, read, draw or play?
Faddle: IdunnowhateverImbored
Me: Why don't you go sit in the comfy chair and chill for a few?
Faddle: Why?
Me: Humor me. Try it. If you want we can make pudding later.
Faddle: Finewhatever

5 minutes later, Faddle is sound asleep. He sleeps for the next two hours solid. Tired much? Next, Fiddle gets a book and curls up on the coach while I work on the ironing. Soon he, too is drifting half asleep.

Who knew the soothing, hypnotic powers the hiss of the iron and the image of domestic Donna Reed style afternoons? Nice.

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