A few days ago, I told you half of the story of my evening with Jewel. The other half came when Mama and 3B returned from the doctor’s office, hopped up on goofballs and armed.
As you may recall, I took Jewel from “Take that avocado off my plate!” to stuffing it in her face and asking for more. Not that it was a proud moment in my parenting career or anything, but I did post a video of it.
As I said, Mama and 3B were at the doctor’s office getting his bug bites checked out. On the way home they had to stop at CVS to get some cortisone cream and replenish our Neosporin supply to avoid 3B developing MRSA. Of course, to those under the age of 6, CVS stands for “candy variety store,” which means that to those of us accompanying those under the age of 6, CVS stands for “conflict very soon.”
Before they even entered the store, 3B was pestering Mama for a treat. Since he had been good at the doctor, it was late and what the hell, Mama said sure, he could have a treat. 3B, of course, doubled down. “And I want a toy.”
Mama drew the line there. “Either a treat or a toy. Not both.”
Then 3B produced his trump card. “You owe me $8.”
Kid’s not even in first grade yet, and we owe him money. And he knows it. And he’s using it against us. Where did we go wrong? So, so wrong?
Mama knows when to hold ’em, when to fold ’em and when it’s time get the hell out of CVS before she ends up with the entire toy and candy aisle in her basket, so she said, “OK, pick out a toy that’s less than $8.”
This explains why, when they arrived, Mama was carrying an already opened bag of donuts and 3B was carrying a ninja weapons kit complete with nunchaku. After stuffing one more donut through his sugar-encircled lips, 3B busts out the kit and, of course, skips right past the fake throwing knife and shuriken and begins whipping the nunchaku around his head like a helicopter.
A helicopter flying a dangerous height. In our living room. Piloted by a boy who’s over-tired and jacked up on sugar.
What could possibly go wrong?
I looked straight at Mama and asked, “What were you thinking?”
She looked straight back at me and said, “I didn’t even hesitate.”
Ah, life with a black belt.
So then 3B asks, “Mama, how do you use these?” To which Mama responds with a nunchaku demonstration in our living room, which was the only safe thing that has happened with them to date. Her demonstration involved lots of whipping those sticks around her head, across her shoulders and through her crotch.
Can you guess what 3B did next?
It will be amazing if anyone in this house can have children after 3B is done with those nunchaku. And look, it cost thousands of dollars to go get one of those things–there’s no need to be knocking it into the next county with some seven-dollar sliced-up broomsticks.
Quickly realizing the error of his ways in copying his mother’s moves, 3B returned to his helicopter rotor and airplane propeller moves–again, at a height that is dangerous to those parts of my body that allow me to eat, breathe and walk. But, you know, other than that, totally safe.
The only thing that would make the nunchaku safer is if 3B’s sister found out about them. I mean, what could go wrong with a contrary two-year-old prone to tantrums, a deadly weapon and a sometimes jealous older brother?
I’m going to spend the next week in our room, behind a locked door, eating my way through that bag of donuts.