It is 8:15 PM, my husband is out of town, three glasses of carnations are drinking colored water on the windowsill – part of a science fair project that needed observation and photographing fifteen minutes ago. I’m in the middle of bathing two rowdy boys who just chewed up my favorite taper candle, and my girls are swinging a laundry hamper in circles at such a speed I am positive the hamper will rocket out of their hands and into the wall, leaving a heckuva high-velocity dent.
“Please put the hamper away and get into your pajamas,” I say.
There is no response. No intimation that the hamper is going to stop spinning and land in the closet where it belongs.
“Please put the hamper down and get into your pajamas and come upstairs.”
I’m using my firm voice now. That one that says I mean it.
Foolishly thinking they will listen to me, I head upstairs to comb third daughter’s wet hair. A few seconds later I hear a horrid thud. The perpetrator comes upstairs and asks me not to get mad when she informs me the hamper did indeed fly into the wall. She’s not sure how… it just did.
The dent is bigger than I imagined.