“Jean from NM” has an office in the same complex in which I have one. Today she told me I should write about my two (human) boys. They’re great guys (well, men), but when they were little, they were always looking for trouble.
When Marc was seven and Brock was four I found some spent matches behind a chair in the living room. First there’s the sinking feeling, and then a sense of relief that the little devils didn’t burn down our only home. So, I called them into the living room.
Me (very calmly): I found these used matches behind the chair here. Did you guys light matches?
Them: No, not us. Unh, unh.
Me (still calm): Are you positive? Not even one time?
Them (fervent denial): Unh, unh. Never.
Me (running into the kitchen and grabbing the phone): OH MY GOD!
Them (panicky): What are you doing?
Me (hysterical): I’m calling the police! Someone is trying to burn down our house!
Them (a little hysterical): Mom, don’t. Wait!
So, they fessed up that they had indeed experimented with matches. They never did that again.
Hee, hee. Moms are lots smarter than the average bear, and the boys lived to tell about it.
