(image from www.doctorramey.com)
I woke up one morning to see Little Boy in my room taking off his pajamas, informing me nonchlantly "There's pee on these," as he kicked the PJ pants across my room. As I dragged myself out of bed, he cheerily returned to his room and brought in all his soiled bedding as well, adding the blankets to the pile of wet clothes.
While I was stuffing all of that into the laundry basket, ready to wash, Little Boy went rummaging in his room and emerged with a recorder.
Remember the recorder? That piercing, shreiking, whistle-like instrument they teach you to play in elementary school? The twins each received one on their last birthday from a nice neighbor. (I'll get her back one day...)
Anyways, he came out playing the recorder at top volume, "Tweet! Tweet! TWEET!" Repeatedly. As I may have mentioned, the sound of this instrument has an icepick-to-the-ear feel to it.
I decided to ignore it and continue to get ready. At this point in my life, I'm getting to be a master at ignoring annoying sounds, by the way. Could that be my superpower? I went into the bathroom so I could get dressed.
I could still hear the recorder blasting outside the bathroom door. "Tweet! Tweet! TWEET!" Over and over. Then I heard another door forcefully opening, stomping feet coming, and Little Boy yelling.
"ET hit me!" he said. I figured his 16-year-old sister had come out of the other bathroom where she was getting ready for school and had popped him on the head to make him stop playing.
He kept playing of course. "Tweet! Tweet! TWEET!" "Tweet! Tweet! TWEET!"
A minute or so later I heard the door-slamming-open/stomping-feet-approaching combo again.
Little Boy yelled, "She took my whistle!" I wondered why she hadn't done that in the first place, to be honest.
So silence reigned momentarily.
ET was in the bathroom putting on her makeup when she heard the recorder starting up. "Tweet! Tweet! TWEET!" "Tweet! Tweet! TWEET!"
She tried to ignore it. "It's okay," she told herself. "Mom will make him stop soon."
But the high-pitched, earsplitting noise just kept on.
(image from yahoo.com)
Finally she stomped out of the bathroom and saw her four-year-old brother, compleltely naked in the hallway, crouching down and aiming the recorder under the bathroom door as he played the same sharp note over and over and over.
She took the recorder from him, conked him on the head with it, and went back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
Only a moment later, she heard the sound again. "Tweet! Tweet! TWEET!" "Tweet! Tweet! TWEET!"
"WHAT?!" she thought. "He's got another one?!"
(Remember my well-meaning neighbor? An instrument for each twin!)
So ET slammed her way out of the bathroom again and took the second recorder away.
...And silence momentarily reigned.