Counting the Cost of Fun

Jeff was in a meeting the other night which meant the more effective half of authority in our home was absent. After bedtime reading, prayers and tuck in, I headed downstairs. It wasn't but a few minutes later that I realized the “tuck” had not stuck. With coffee in hand, I listened for a good while to the familiar pitter pat of feet (which is becoming "ka-thunk, ka-thunk" more quickly than I had ever imagined), doors in need of some fragrant WD-40, and finally, the voice of an exasperated sister who was trying to read. I spoke with the guilty party from the bottom of the stairs and he turned away with a "Yes ma'am" and blue blanket firmly clutched. Back to my computer and coffee with, sigh, melted whip. Between sips and clicks, I heard more "pitter, ka-thunk", more squeaking and huffs so loud from Julia, I was worried about her hyperventilating. I called him again to the top of the stairs and with both hands held out, I began to give him his choices. As I wiggled the fingers of my right hand, I lowered my eyes to serious mode (so did he) and said, “Over here you can choose to obey, stay in your bed, listen to the story and go to sleep.” Wiggling moved to left hand, “Over here you can choose to disobey, get out of bed, bother Julia, do whatever and wind up with a spanking. It is entirely up to you.” Head bowed but eyes on me.............. evidently, thinking. Shifting his feet with blanket rubbing nose, he said through crocheted holes, “Now, that’s a hard one.”