Go Outside and Play

I can remember my mother always saying "Go outside and play," whenever any her five children were grumbling that there was nothing to do, and looking back now, I have to say that some of my favorite childhood memories were those of building snow forts in the winter and living in the pool during the summer. Even though I only have two boys, I now understand why. I love my children, but when they enter into the comfortable life you and your spouse have created, they completely change everything. You're conscious of their presence even when they're playing contently in their room to the point where you watch everything you say and do. Now, when I've hurt myself , usually by stubbing my toe over one of their toys left on the floor, I can't just let out a "Dammit, shit, fuck!" I catch myself, pause, take a deep breath and say, "oooowwww, darn it." I also can no longer sleep until noon, blast hard rock music, watch shows with adult content when they are near, or even get dressed without the fear of my sons just randomly walking into my bedroom. Your freedom is restricted as you try to be a good example for your children, but sometimes you just need some breathing room.

This is exactly what happened this morning. The five day rain fest here in "sunny" Florida had ceased, and although it was cloudy I knew there was a good possibility that my husband would mow the lawn and take the boys out to help. After all, no wife and mother in her right mind wants to be pushing a mower on top of all the other chores they handle, and it was high time my boys learned how to do the one chore men can manage not to screw up. It seemed like my plan was working for a while as they were all outside while I was celebrating the moments of my life. I had my jumbo sized Mom coffee cup filled to the brim with general foods international suisse mocha, my faithful cat Tiger curled up next to me, and was thoroughly engrossed in watching The Reader while lounging in my pajamas. With the exception of the loud drone of the mower; all was right with the world. I had two hours of relaxing peace that vanished as quickly as it came when I heard what was going on in the garage.

My husband informed me that my youngest son Evan had avoided his man training because he was too busy playing with the neighbor boy right next to the clean clothes out in the garage. (There are no basements in Florida and so some laundry hookups are in the garage). What, oh hell no?! You see Issac was not allowed to play inside anyone's house as his parents just wanted to be able to walk out the front door and easily find him. I understood this, as kids can sometimes jump from one house to the next without telling their parents, but this only made matters worse for me. Many times Issac would obey that rule by hanging out next to our open front door while Evan would try to include him in a computer game or they would go exploring in our open, crowded garage full of heavy boxes, an expensive kayak, and sharp tools. Normally, special efforts were made to make sure that the garage door was down but since Dave needed to use the mower, it had been left open, possessing all the allure of Pandora's box.

After counting to ten, I calmly opened the back door to survey the damage, only to find Issac sitting in a blue, plastic cookie monster chair, directly in front of the washing machine absorbed his Nintendo DS with a load of clean whites heaped on the floor next to him. Strewn on top of this large pile, in plain sight, were my collection of "angel" undergarments. Victoria's secret was out now. Fortunately, I don't think he noticed as he was not trying any of them on or even looking in that direction. "Hello, Mrs. Blackwell how are you today?" said Issac in response to my look of surprise. There was something about his politeness that reminded me of Eddie Haskel, that when coupled with the fact that he was a few years older than Evan, only made me distrust him. "What are you guys doing out here?" I replied. Evan of course went into a rambling, detailed explanation that was based in some sort of logic but I wasn't buying it. He knew perfectly well how I felt on this issue. With all of the patience I could summon, I suggested that they should just go outside and play, to which there was no reaction. Was I was speaking some indecipherable language like Charlie Brown's teacher? Okay, now I was done being nice and had to turn all hard ass on them and spell it out. "I need to do some laundry and I can't get to it with you sitting there, you're going to have to move," I said in my firmest voice. There, that should instill the fear of God into them. Finally they got the point and I promptly clicked the door opener while doing the walk of shame over to my unmentionables. Summer vacation is coming in ten days and I know that keeping them outside in the sweltering heat will prove nearly impossible if not dangerous, but I draw the line at worrying about my right to leave my own laundry next to the dryer. You don't have to go home boys, but you can't stay in the garage.