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November 3, 2004

Mini Me

The night before last, the kids had a serious case of the wild-hairs when I got home from work. They were scaling furniture and launching themselves at me like toothy little Lost World raptors. I had no choice but to take on the role of the wounded stegasaurus. Except with apposable thumbs. If there had been dust to toss around, the air would have been thick with it. I used my trusty defense weapon, a large thick blanket, to toss over the marauders like Marlin Perkins and his rocket launcher gazelle net. But those little boogers are really good at escaping traps. So finally in desperation, I resorted to a time tested tactic. I started racing through the house shutting off lights. That got their attention, and they ran off to their room for sanctuary.

So with the house darkened, and the only light a soft glow escaping the door to their room, I crouched in the living room and growled at intervals. And here's where Giselle began to tickle some memories from my childhood. "Okay Harrison...we need to lure him so we can throw our blankets over him. So you need to be the bait...go out in the hall and yell at him...no, go out further into the hall..." And I was hunched over, laughing to myself. I used to do that to my sisters when Dad played the prowling creature in the dark, with his black beard and white glowing teeth and t-shirt. I was a treacherous older brother, "Go see if he's out there you guys..." and then I'd shut the door behind them and laugh till the tears came out as the low growls, and screams of "He's here! He's here! Let me in! Let me in!" raised into a crescendo of tickle-torture. Why they trusted me, I'll never know. But Giselle isn't that bad. She just needed Harrison to serve the purpose of absorbing the brunt of the attack while she tossed her net in safety. I decided I would teach her the lesson I never got.

I growled really loud and sent them scrambling back into their room while I tiptoed to the other end of the hall and crouched down to await their emergence. Once again, Giselle instructed Harrison that he needed to go out first and that she'd be right behind him. Sure enough, like the little lamb that he is, Harrison came creeping out with his blanket...followed a few steps behind by his older sister and her blanket. Down the hall they went, unaware of the prowling terror behind them. That's when I jumped out and yelled "OOOOOOHAAAAAAAARRRRRUGHHHH!!!" while throwing my blanket at them. I swear Harrison about soiled himself, but Giselle, being closer collapsed to the ground, speechless, eyes bugged out, arms in defensive cat-claw formation. That's when I dropped to my knees laughing till it hurt. And they sprung into action--tossing their blankets over me and started jumping on the foiled monster. Thank goodness for the armadillo protective posture, or I might've had to call in sick the next day. They laughed themselves silly listening to the dad-monster groan and whimper with every bodyslam and bellyflop.

When I finally decided I had suffered enough proto-bruises, and that Harrison might lapse into a laughing asthma attack, I called a truce. And Giselle blurts out, "Oh BOY have I got something to write about in my journal now!" Huh? "Your journal?"..."Yeah, my journal at school." Ohhh, I forgot about that. I can see it now. "Mr. Perez, it has come to our attention that you like to scare the crud and corn syrup out of your children, and then allow them to relentlessly beat the tar out of you. We are concerned Mr. Perez, and have lined up counseling sessions for your family every Monday and Thursday evening..."

Oh! I almost forgot. While we're on the topic of adversarial games with the kids, here is a note they slipped under the door while I was on the kamode this weekend:

In case you can't parse through some of the spelling, it reads:

"Do you think you'll
have peace and silence
for quite a while well
if you do boy are you
going to be
dissappointed

From your worst
nightmare"

And within moments came the sounds of hands slapping on the door and indecipherable hollering. So I matter-of-factly let them know that with all that commotion, it was going to take me twice as long. And they disengaged and went running off.

Wonder Twins Deactivate!

Posted by Jeremy at November 3, 2004 9:42 AM