Disclaimer: Some of you may need a nerve pill to look at these snapshots. (I’m thinking of YOU, Mam and Grammy.) And if you work for the Department of Family Services, please note that our heating ducts are positioned in such a manner that a straight-shot-fall could never be accomplished. Our ducts are ENORMOUSLY ANGLED. I wasn’t a geometry major, but I know enough about WRITE THIS PROOF OUT FOR THE FINAL EXAM to say that the angle of our duct work provides a nice platform for a thirty-pound boy to stand on… but he would never, ever be able to become another sad story of a child who disappears and lives with the spiders in the pipes for years, before a routine furnace check by the Heating and Air Conditioning Man uncovered him and his stash of bread crumbs and small crackers that fell through the vents.
Yesterday morning, I heard someone quickly open and close the kitchen junk drawer. I was busy picking up the living room, and by the time I’d turned around to make an inspection, the culprit had already vacated the kitchen premises.
I finished fluffing the sofa pillows (regardless of the fact that Hubs’ take on throw pillows is DIE! BURN THEM! WHY DO WE HAVE THEM! THEY ARE ALWAYS IN MY WAY, AND I HATE THEM!). And then I picked up some Matchbox cars. And then I picked up a couple of broken crackers off the floor.
And then I heard some noises.
It’s always best to investigate strange noises at our house, because… well… you just never know.
Yesterday morning’s strange noises turned out to be THIS:
The orange screwdriver was swiped out of the kitchen junk drawer. The theft was quick and hurried, because the criminal was a professional. He knew what he was doing. He’d practiced the crime in his room alone, timing himself, and trimming seconds off where he could, until he had the whole GET-IN-GET-THE-SCREWDRIVER-GET-OUT-IN-THREE-SECONDS routine down pat.
And then he used the orange screwdriver to pry the lovely MADE TO MATCH THE HARDWOOD FLOORS vent out of his bedroom floor.
And then he climbed inside.
When I found him, I gasped. I believe my exact words were spoken like an unmedicated lunatic walking the streets and shouting random phrases out loud at passing cars. I asked, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
Only… I’m fairly certain that it came out, “LORD JESUS, TAKE THE WHEEL, BECAUSE WHAT IS GOING ON IN THIS BEDROOM AND HOW DID YOU DO THIS AND WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS AND I AM GONNA NEED A REFILL ON MY NERVE PILLS TO RAISE YOU TO THE AGE OF THREE!!!!”
Thing 2 just looked at me and said, “Hiding!”
And so I explained, “We never, ever, NOT AT ALL… NOT FOR ANY REASON… hide in the furnace vents!! You are in trouble! This is a bad, BAD choice! Now… Hold on while I get my camera to document this, because your future girlfriends need to know what they could be getting themselves into, if you were ever to propose marriage!”
The orange screwdriver is no longer easily accessible in the kitchen junk drawer.
We have taken THE PRECAUTIONS.
And when I laid on the shrink’s leather sofa today, I just babbled and said, “I have no idea what I’m doing as a parent! I’m raising Calvin, from Calvin and Hobbes, and I’m not sure my heart is strong enough for all of this refrigerator-climbing and hiding in the duct work!”
My shrink just patted me and said, “There, there. I’m so proud of him! He solved a problem by using a tool! He’s smarter than the average monkey! I have taught the young Jedi well.”
Husbands do not make good shrinks.
Happy Tuesday night.