Little Devil

Me: Tornado A, what do you want to be for Halloween?

Tornado A: Satan!

Me: Ok.

My mother: You’re letting him be Satan for Halloween?

Me: Sure, why not?

My mother: Because. It’s not right. How about you go as a devil, Tornado A?

Tornado A: Satan is The Devil.

My mother eyed me. I shrugged. I envisioned a red suit with red shirt and tie.

***

The Fem Spot: Maybe you could call him something other than Satan? Doesn’t Paradise Lost have other names for him? Like Lucifer?

I had just finished telling her the costume plans. I decided to ask Tornado A what he wanted to wear, just in case he preferred red sweats and a red turtleneck (none to be found). He asked for a black suit and red shirt and tie. AND HORNS, MAMA!

Me: Well, I am Catholic and an English teacher. I should be able to come up with something….. The Morning Star, The Light Bringer, The Deceiver, The Fallen One. He Who Must Not Be Named. Wait. Wrong book.

The Fem Spot: You’ll think of something.

***

So it was my youngest son went as the Lord of Hell with a black suit, red shirt, red tie, a pitchfork, and HORNS. And the best joke I heard was at a Halloween event at the zoo.

Comicon Guy: Why isn’t it The Man, himself? Hello, sir. Good evening. But I believe you’re early, and that is a breach of contract.

 

 

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The Bag

Oh no.

I whispered as my eyes fell upon the bag Tornado A was using for a backpack.

It was a cheap employee laptop bag, a desperation move, a life saver thrown out by my dad when I was told last Wednesday that Tornado A needed a new backpack. That the teacher had told my mom. My mom had told the ex several days before. That Wednesday I counted the stores I needed to go to while the boys were in kung fu and the grading I should do instead. The Rice Krispie Treats that needed to be made at the same time as tomorrow’s lunches. The horrible exhaustion I felt. I thought about tomorrow with the Cub Scout and Boy Scout meetings and the training I was suppose to go to instead and the popcorn money needed to be collected and the lunches to be made.

I don’t know when to get it… Not until the weekend…

I whispered in a near panic, thinking about the to-do list so long that it took up the entire page of a loose leaf sheet of paper, the one that started out as a column, then two, then like vines spread across the paper, choking the white with black ink. The to-do list that rarely shrank but kept growing without an end in sight. Everything needed to be done THIS VERY MINUTE. A to-do list that frightened me more than any other to-do list I ever had. I was failing.

So the next morning my dad produced this work bag, and Tornado A looked at it with disdain. So I fixed the straps to make it his length and ran out of the room. I grabbed my heavy, nearly-full messenger bag. I put it on.

See? We have the same type of bag! We both take it to school!

Tornado A laughed and put it on.

Or like Sheldon!

Just like Mama!

But that was last Thursday, and now it was Monday. I was running late, feeling sick to my stomach because of bad food or not enough vegetables or that To-Do List. I wasn’t dressed or showered though the clock read 7, and I needed to be gone in 15 minutes. I didn’t prep the night before because I was sick and exhausted, waiting only for my hair to dry enough to put it in curlers. And I had forgotten to get a backpack all weekend.

We did a movie night instead. Ant-Man because the boys have to watch the Marvel Universe unfold in order, and I did laundry and graded while the boys slept. And Comicon took most of Saturday. But then we watched Simpsons after we came home while I graded. Yesterday the karate tournament in Phoenix with the long drive and-

It didn’t matter. I forgot. I should’ve put the exhaustion aside and gone to the store. My dad mentioned getting one during work Friday. But it doesn’t matter. I’m the mom. It’s my responsibility. And I. I failed.

I forgot to get Tornado A a new backpack.

I said loudly to the house.

My dad walked by the foyer. “That’s ok, Fae. Tornado A doesn’t want one. He wants that one. Just like his Mama’s.”

Goodnight. Goodnight.

Me: Goodnight, Sweetheart.

Tornado E: Goodnight, Mama.

Me: I love you.

Tornado E: I love you too.

Me: I’m proud of you.

Tornado E: I’m proud of you too.

Me: (Smug smile) Thanks, baby.

Tornado E: I didn’t meant that. I was copying you. I didn’t mean to say that. (Sigh) I’m proud of you, Mama.

You have no idea how much that means to me.

Tag

The boys were lounging on my bed as we watched YouTube videos. Some Honest Trailers.

Me: What do you want to do now?

Tornado E: Nothing. We don’t have any time. Daddy will be here soon.

Me: Sure, we do. Tag.

I slapped his leg lightly. His brothers scrambled out of the bed and ran out of the room. I walked out. I walked down the hall.

Tornado A: Mama! Run!

Me: Naw. I can walk. Your brother is too slow to catch me.

That was it. Tornado E ran out of the room at me.

So started a ten-minute game of tag so funny that I nearly peed myself from laughing so hard.

Tornado E is not nearly so fast that I can’t play a game of Gotcha Last.

References

We’re developing quite the private language with inside jokes and references. My boys and I are like a little club. You have to watch Star Wars movies and shows. You have to watch The Simpsons, Teen Titans, Teen Titans Go. And you have to watch Star vs the Forces of Evil.

Which brings us to the other day.

I am very honest about my political beliefs with my boys. Because, you know, they’re my boys, and I’m raising them right. Allies aware of their white male privilege. Empathetic. Compassionate. Inquisitive. Honest. Rebels.

I got off topic.

Any ways. I was explaining President Trump’s apparent need for attention. I don’t know how we got on the topic. But there it is. And I tell them if you can’t back up an opinion without a reason and example/fact, then it’s worth hot air. So I explain my logic.

The boys thought about it for a moment.

Then.

Tornado E: What Glossaryck hears is me, me, me, me!

It was perfect. The moment. The reference. The timing.

If you’re curious, it’s season 2 episode 26a “Page Turner,” or you can watch this link. Star Vs The Forces Of Evil Episode 26 Part 3

Character

Tornado E: But why are we here?

Me: Because it’s your brothers’ duty to sell popcorn for their pack.

Tornado E: But I’m boooooard.

Me: You could’ve stayed home. You’re old enough.

Tornado E: But it’s scary to be home alone.

Me: Well, it was your choice.

Tornado E: Why do we have to stay longer?

Me: Because no one else signed up for the second spot, so we’re helping out.

Tornado E: But why?

Me: They call this character building.

Tornado E: But the only characters I like are in cartoons!

The other mom started laughing. I sighed and ignored him.

That One Kid

We sat around the table, drinking coffees or sodas, planning for the good of the pack.

Me: Remember that policy paperwork we were writing a few months ago? The one that set discipline and rules for the pack? I think we need to finish it and set in stone.

Webelo leader: But the kids that were an issue are gone now.

Me: I know. But it’s not a matter of if we have another child like that; it’s a matter of when. We need policies to protect the pack, the leaders, the scouts, and the parents. We can’t let this go.

Bear leader: You’re right.

Me: Who knows? I might need it with my trouble scout. Tornado A.

Bear leader: The worst one in my den is my kid.

Packmaster: My kid is the worst in my den.

Webelo leader: (pause) I don’t have a worst kid. They’re all great.

The three of us looked at him. Because we knew who the worst one was in his den. We do have meetings at the same time where we gather for the flag ceremony and announcements. We do have pack meetings. The three of us looked at each other and then back at him, deciding silently to not enlighten him on the rule.

If you don’t know who the worst child is in your den, it’s your child.

When you do know who it is, nine times out of ten, it’s your child.

Which is why next den meeting I’m bringing rules, a discipline chart, and a new discipline policy. You know, for my kid.