Take my Children, Please!

We have two sons. Bringing each of them home, tucking them into their little bassinets and showing them off were the heady days of young motherhood. But alas, the joke was on me. My theology on childrearing is really quite simple now. God gives us children because He has a sense of humor. But my own sense of humor is waning at this point and it began to disappear when both boys began the phenomenal physical growth that accompanies the teenage years.

My sons have now reached the combined weight of a baby elephant. The eldest is a six-footer and mostly muscle. The thirteen year old towers over me and weighs 180 pounds. He is a bunch of flab. Food is becoming a definite problem. When I read of Chinese villagers subsisting on two bowls of rice a day I roll my eyes. Their growing sons must have stomachs the size of a walnut. I am feeding a plague of locusts at my house.

Actually, it is the youngest who presents the biggest challenge. The handwriting was on the wall at age two. That was when he was found to be eating the mint dental floss. The next year we finally found the reason why he was the only kid without any gold stars on his art work from Sunday School. It appears he always ate them as he toddled back to the sanctuary. Babysitters complained of stuffed animals missing tails, odd disappearances of small items in their homes. A stool sample is all the evidence that was needed. The kid is just a goat. You know a goat will eat a tin can or anything it can find.

Sick and home alone one day a couple months ago, the wolfhound ate a whole watermelon. Not one of those small ones, ya' know. It was a ten-pounder from south Texas. I found out about his transgression coming home from the pool that night. Casually mentioning that a slice of cold watermelon sounded good he calmly responded, "I ate it." Yep, he ate the whole thing, including several sandwiches, a bag of chips and a couple of cold drinks. I felt my peripheral vision fading and nearly had to pull over to the side of the road.

Things came to a head two days ago. Believe me, venting on the blog is cheaper than psychotherapy. The latest food incident started when I decided to be the perfect mother and make a pan of brownies. Checking in the pantry, the container of frosting was missing. Later that day, I brought accusation against the little darling. "Nope, I didn't eat it..." said Jacob the Liar. This whopper was delivered with the expression of a dumb sheep with dull little eyes. Later that night, cleaning the bathroom, I found the empty frosting container behind the toilet with a spoon sticking out of it. Thumbing through the phone book for the number of CPS to come pick up my child, it dawned on me that no one would keep him. Who can afford this kid?

Right at the moment, my sons are about as welcome in the kitchen as a couple of anopheles mosquitoes. Meanwhile, I am working on marketing my design for a refrigerator which includes a locking compartment which will only open with an iris scan. I am busy consulting a carpenter to modify my pantry to include a couple of hidden shelves. And if the local food bank will just send me everything on their shelves, we might just make it through the next month.

Tammy Swofford

tammyswofford@yahoo.com