My sister and her husband celebrated their eleventh anniversary last weekend. I pushed them out of the house to spend some time together, assuring them that I was quite up to the task of putting the Peanuts to bed, and we would all survive without them for one evening.
Off they went, full of plans to enjoy the beauties of SOHOE solo (without children, I mean). The Peanuts and I played boccie (even Five, whose method of playing was to lean against my legs at all times, occasionally dropping a ball on my toes) and what I thought was Rickshaw Driver, but turned out to be Ancient Romans from the Circus, which consisted of pulling each other in the bicycle carriage over a small tree trying to grow in the back yard (each time they did so, they would call out to me, "You didn't see that, Tantoo Ya" [my jedi name, you might remember])
Eventually I managed to herd them all indoors with the promise of Bath With Bubbles. They love playing in the tub, so I thought I was being very clever. Four and Five even managed to keep most of the water in the tub, so all was going well. The remaining Peanuts each had 15 minutes by the oven timer to enjoy their very own bubbles, and that too went off with no undue drama. As each batch came out, they were dried off and admonished to brush their teeth and read quietly till bed time. So far so good.
The only glitch came from Five, who, when threatened with being put to bed in Mommy's bed unless he stayed in his own cosy bed, told me he wanted to sleep in Mommy's bed. (Note to self: when attempting disciplinary measures, don't offer a treat as a punishment)
So Little Five was upstairs nested in pillows while the rest of us were downstairs, attending to prayers and last minute stories of the day. We heard a knock on the front door (screen door, unlocked) but as we were nearly done the routine, it was just me and the boys and we weren't expecting anyone at 8.15 in the evening (bath time having taken longer than expected) I ignored it. Then came the sound of the screen door being opened, and a voice called out, "Hello?" followed by the sound of a large foot landing on the floor above my head.
So many thoughts rushed through my mind: Five is up a flight from whoever that is. The others are behind me, the phone is up there, can I get to the knife drawer before he gets to the kitchen, if I scream will elderly Miss Anne next door hear me? And I flew up the stairs shrieking, "Stay out! Get out!"
Reaching the kitchen at the top of the stairs, I could see it was our landlady's agent, quickly back peddling out the door and down the front stairs, waving his hands in surrender, saying "Sorry, sorry, sorry" and looking like he wished for some body armour.
Several months ago, the front door knob broke. He was having it rebuilt (apparently by a man from Inner Mongolia who receives deliveries once a month, judging by how long it took) and had said he would come by that day to put it back in place. Well, we'd expected him early that morning, and by that time I'd completely forgotten about him. I gave him an earful about walking into the house, scaring a helpless female with children in the house, not calling, and arriving so late.
I think he learned his lesson, because when he called the next morning, and then came to the house, he seemed quite reluctant to come near me.
Darned straight.
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