Well the time has come. The moving van arrives in the morning. Time to start packing things out and loading them up. It seems like all of a sudden our normal household has become more like a madhouse. All changing in just an instant. A lot like when the phone rings.
When the phone rings at our house, it's like the signal that all semblance of order is to be abandoned immediately. It can be calm and quiet in the house, kids watching TV or playing with toys without any screaming or fighting or such. No one is hungry or needs a drink and not one really cares where Mommy is at the moment. But if that phone should ring, the atmosphere changes and changes quickly.
All of a sudden there are urgent needs to be met among the troops. Instantly everyone wants to know where Mommy is and things need to be answered and responded to immediately. Important things. Things like, "Can we have a cookie? I need chocolate milk. Is it OK if I invite 8 of my friends over? Can I ride my bike in the street?" I answer them all the same way. Making the scariest face I can, waving my arm wildly about my head like I am fighting off a swarm of angry bees and adding a boot kick with my foot all while cheerfully answering the phone caller with, "Oh yes, we are all doing fine here." My answer only persuades the kids to move 6" out of the reach of my foot while still preparing their second wave of attacks by gathering up packages of cookies and chips and water color paints to be opened.
"Oh but PLEEEEESE Mommy! Can't I just have ONE can of soda?"
Thankfully things have gotten a little easier on us mothers with the invention of the cordless phones, as now I try to outdistance the throngs of 4 feet tall and under younglings by heading up the stairs while still cheerfully carrying on the telephone conversation. I disguise my breathlessness of climbing up the stairs with a little faux cough and wheeze. But 10 seconds behind me and there they are! With juice boxes and marking pens and a 36 pack of Crayolas. Their demands growing louder and stronger. It's time I take a stand. I put my hand over the phone, grit my teeth and say, "NO! Get. Out." That just causes one to cling to my leg and implore to me, "Please Mommy? Pleeeeeeese?" I try to shake off said urchin as I wander upstairs from room all while brightly following my phone conversation. Once I break free, I head back downstairs where I can converse in peace. In my wake I strategically place roadblocks in order so slow my entourage down. The dining room chair in the kitchen doorway. Hot Wheels cars placed at eye level. Packages of fruit chews next to the TV. All the while making my way to that one place of solitude.
I have often wondered if callers knew that if they talked to a stay at home mom for more than 15 minutes that chances are she was probably locked in the bathroom or closet somewhere. A closet is the preferred choice as there is less echo, but the bathroom is a good alternative during peak conversation hours. There the fan can be turned on to help conceal the noise of kidlings pounding upon the bathroom door. However, usually in 5 minutes or less, the mom is flushed out, fleeing yet to another space.
With beads of sweat on my brow I lower my head and navigate my way through the children, continuing on the search for a that ever elusive noise free area. Once again up the stairs, down the stairs and finally right outside the front door. But in the back of my mind, I am fearing retribution and I can no longer stay on track of the conversation and the phone call must be terminated. Returning the phone to the receiver, stumbling on a Hot Wheels along the way, I survey the damage. Dining room chair turned over. Fruit chews opened and smashed into the carpet. TV turned up loud enough that the neighbors can understand it through their double paned windows. Kids looking somewhat weary and defeated yet otherwise contented and happy.
But I got to listen to a friend talk on the phone, so it was worth it.
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