articles

Macaroni Dad

'Cause Dads Love Macaroni, Too!

September 26, 2014
Nice. It’s a holiday so the kids will be home wreaking havoc for a day. Parents that might usually rely on the school bus to take their little farm animals away for 6 hours are now scrambling to entertain or find another avenue to monitor small (and big) kid behavior so parents don’t have to take a sick day.

It’s always been my experience that when our daughter disappears and then a long period of silence follows, there is some sort of suspicious activity going on. Some kids get in trouble by getting into the cookies, pouring shampoo and baby powder all over the bathroom or getting the vacuum cleaner cord tangled up in the living room ceiling fan while Macaroni Mom’s favorite Dyson swings around in a circle. Any one of these things would prove a challenging day to mom and dad at home if they were to turn their backs long enough for the saplings to get into trouble. The issue in our home is that Mini Mac does things like this every day, not only that, her exploits above don’t even take a full or half day, but can happen in our poor little home within a few minutes.

On one side I smile and thrill inside when I wonder what her little mind might create to keep herself busy. We know we are blessed. We are lucky. We have a child whose synapses don’t ever stop firing. I see lately that our youngest Macaroni’s inquisitive little mind is already asking questions beyond my ability to answer. On the other hand I wonder if Mini Mac’s curiosity might get out of control. I wonder sometimes if I might come home to a shell of a house in ruins, four tires on fire and a smoldering lawn. It’s a very busy little brain but a busy little body as well.

I arrived home this evening and nodded to Macaroni Mom in her chambers huffing and puffing and pulling levers and switches working feverishly to get the weekly edition out. I quickly made eye contact but kept it brief knowing that getting too close to the machinery could rip limbs and clothing off and would be frowned upon as a great delay by the Wizard. As I surveyed the house, which I had vacated only 10 hours prior, I became very aware of how every single light, toaster, hair dryer, blender, burner, radio, ceiling fan and TV in the residence was turned on and running on high or at maximum volume.

Although there was no sign of my 8 year old, there was evidence in the living room of empty soup bowls, milk cups, chopsticks, Gogurt wrappers and chicken bones that the creature had been there recently. It was not unlike how you might feel when you wander into a lion’s den or a bear’s cave and wonder if you are getting stalked. You suddenly realize that a wild animal could swing in on a vine and you could wake up on the dinner table. There were feathers, scissors, dismembered milk gallon jugs, shreds of paper and toilet paper rolls held together with duct tape. On a table near the couch was a bowl with a block of solid ice inside. All of the wife’s favorite throw pillows were stacked near the couch on the floor and there was a red cape lying flat nearby. I tried to draw some kind of connection or parallel between everything I observed, but nothing made any sense.

In one of the bathrooms I found a mixture of soap pieces, cleaning chemicals and towels in a sink. It looked like some unknown force had used a hatchet or machete to mince 3 (brand new!) bars of soap into fragments and then done experiments combining them with different solvents from bottles under the sink. It looked like a scene you might see in a mad scientist’s laboratory, or in a jail cell right before MacGyver uses ordinary bathroom cleaners to blow a hole through the wall.

As I stepped out into the hallway and began to head into my bedroom, I took a few steps into a mass of stretched yarn and became caught in some sort of web. Yes, as strange as it may sound, someone’s child had used over 100 yards of string attached between door jambs, walls, shelves and highly breakable, priceless family heirlooms to spin some sort of containment web designed primarily to irritate and impede tired parental units.

I pulled myself out of the string mess and tiptoed backwards. I thought for a moment. I think I am in the wrong house - pretty sure of it actually.

I had one chance – now or never. “Honey, I am going to run to the store for a minute.”

The Macaroni of Oz hammered on her keyboard and held a single index finger up in the air. Understanding her, ‘not right now’ lingo, I quietly made my way to the front door and slipped outside.

That place was absolute chaos. I think I was about to get pounced on by a wild child wearing some sort of animal skin and carrying a spear. I am no good to them tired anyway, so I am going to stay the night in this hotel. I will get up early in the morning to assess the damage and help get the little Busy Mac ready for school.
 

RETURN TO THIS ISSUE'S HOME PAGE 

Weekly Recurring Features:

Macaroni Dad | Upcoming Walks/Runs | Save the Date | Happy Birthday Macaroni Kid Club Members | Kids Eat Free