A long day of phonics, math, and reading brings about an early evening of pitiful unrest from the youngest munchkin. It's contagious. No suggestion (such as quiet play with Ken and Barbie) leaves the lips of this seasoned mother who knows that cardboard tubes hidden away a month earlier are the only answer for this unruly occasion. Snatched up from their hiding place, they are relinquished into eager hands for a few necessary rounds of "civil" swording before dinner.
Watching from the window, Ralphie's mother vividly comes to mind as I recall those five famous words I begin to whisper under my breath, "You'll [shoot] poke your eye out," but they can't hear me and would pretend that they couldn't, even if they did.
Of course, older siblings are never too old to join in the ruckus. I can always count on them to take imaginary play to the next level...or two, and then I forget all about Ralphie's mother.
Enie-meanie-miney-moe
Give the pirate one good blow
If she hollers make her pay
Just don't let her get away...
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