Short Tempers

Tim absolutely LOVED the Snowmageddon …… teehee!

I’m laying on my back, and staring up at the clouds. I ask God for a lightning bolt in the chest.
Tornado runs over and says, “Do you still want me to go lick a metal pole to see what happens?”
Before I can utter a word, he spins on his heels and off he goes laughing and dives into a pile of snow.

I’m afraid to move as the excruciating pain shoots stars across my eyes, and has me wondering how this all happened.

Michael Buffers famous line should be echoing in your ears right now.

Round 1. Ding.

We’re all suited up and Tornado and Hurricane decide they want to bury me in the snow. What the hell can go wrong, right? I lay down and a five gallon bucket of snow is dumped on my head. The next mound lands on the twins. Hot tears melt snow.

Tha-Wap!

A blood curdling scream comes from the Hurricane. By the time, I get the snow out of my eyes, the Tornado is standing over the Hurricane, holding a shovel like a baseball bat. The vision of a Yeti flashes across my eyes. I launch the shovel into the street and trip over the bucket. Faceplant! Somebody is going to die. I punt the bucket and grab the Tornado. His mouth is going a mile a minute, spewing I hate you’s. Then I pick up the Hurricane and inspect for damage, and hold him until he slows his crying.

Taking the little one into the house, I get him to explain how he was trying to take the shovel from Tornado, and met with… resistance. A harsh talk with the Tornado later, I sent the bboy’s on their way to the basement to take off their snow clothes. And a quiet house is found. I am a feared.
I find them in their tighty whiteys in front of the icebox, door wide open, as they work their way through a pound of lunchmeat.

A few Wtf’s and at least one facepalm later, the boys are begging to go back outside.

Round 2. Ding.

“My snowsuits inside out.” “Well turn it right side in.” “I don’t know how.” “Gimme it.” “My gloves are wet.” “Did you put them in the dryer like I said?” “What dryer?” “The one you’re standing next to.” “I dunno.” #facepalm As I pull up the last zipper…the Hurricane says, “I gotta potty.”

So I rip the zipper down, and take his snow gear back off and he strips down to his birthday suit. He has to be naked to poop. While sitting there he says, “I’m cold.” (Inside thought- well No duh.) “You are naked, Hurricane.” “Oh.” This is that point in the day where I turn and stare at the imaginary camera on the wall.

I stop in the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Lord knows I need it right now.

Ka-rack! Que another blood curdling scream.

I run back down to the basement, and the boys are sword fighting with hockey sticks. Hurricane is holding the hockey stick over Tornado. Tornado is screaming. So far tonight’s fight card is even at one point each.

I get the monsters dressed, and go over the Tornado, making sure he’s ok, and calm the psychotic rage in Hurricane.

Round 3. Ding.

While out in the snow, we’re all happy making a big fort for the both of them to play in. Then all of a sudden, I get a flashback to my childhood.

I used to run across the porch, out onto the pillar next to the steps, and then jump into the grass. Just to see how far and how high I could go. It drove my mom nuts. I can still hear her yelling at me… as a child flys through the air with the greatest of ease and lands on top of me. *Gasp! Tornado wants to jump too. As all thoughts of snow balls, forts, and angels are abandoned, I contemplate the irony… just before I start yelling.

“Stop that. Get down from there. You’re going to get hurt. You could slip off the side and land on your brains.”

“We don’t have any. We’re kids,” says Tornado as Hurricane squeals with delight soaring through the air and faceplants into the snow below. Jumps up and Tornado does the same.

I look at the storm door and dad is roaring with laughter. I shake my head and mouth the word, Yup.

So a few minutes more of letting the irony stew, I pull up my dad pants and set about hollering to get them to stop. Good luck with that, right?
I think the Tornado really does like to argue. The little something or other is smart. While I’m nursing still sore and stiff muscles, I pull out my phone and record the two from the top if the steps. Tornado chooses now to argue that mom is going to have twins. I’m standing here like ummmm news to me. Of course being eight years old, he continues to push it until I ask him if he knows anything about licking frost off of metal poles.

The Hurricane runs around the fence line and I reposition myself at the top of the steps. I call out to the Hurricane and go down the steps… on my back.

Not a moment later, the love of my laugh calls me to come pick her up. I hang up the phone and stare up at the clouds, with little footsteps approaching fast, and pray for a lightning bolt.

– Tim

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