The Art of Roughhousing

Saturday, JD had dedicated the whole morning to playing with Colin. While I appreciate this commitment of fun and togetherness, they do so leave a trail. I know exactly what they've been doing, where they've been and with what. I can almost predict how long they were at one station, if you will, due to the carnage left behind. I know if they've eaten and what. I know if they got dressed or not and where. I know if they've been outside and if the grass is wet because there will inevitably be wet socks and or shoes at the back door along with little and big and cat footprints on the floor. I know if they've read books, played guns, hit golf balls or baseballs, played in the sandbox, watched TV together, had a snack, had a bath, made milk....it doesn't matter what it is. I know because they leave evidence all over the place. It doesn't take a forensic scientist to figure this out. Just a Mom who knows what her house looked like before the unending trail began.

So early afternoon, I go to make our bed. Don't even start with me, it was Saturday. When cleaning up the trail I always start in my bedroom. Anyway, I went to make the bed but it was completely torn apart. I'm talking the sheets and blanket were completely untucked from the end. The comforter was askew and the pillows tossed. And I was thinking to myself, "Now, I know I had nothing to do with this. I'm a very quiet sleeper. I don't toss and turn, I don't kick, I don't throw covers, I don't usually steal covers, etc. And neither does JD for the most part. So, I couldn't figure out what had happened. I knew the boys had to have had something to do with it but I couldn't predict what went down. As I'm making the bed I'm trying to get Colin to stop "helping" me so I can get it done faster and better. And I'm telling Colin to go pick up toys. JD calls from the shower and asks, "Sugie, what happened to all your patience?" I honestly responded, "You two have successfully messed up every room in this house and you don't pick up after yourselves, ever." He says as if he knows what I'm thinking, "We were playing on the bed." I'm thinking, "roughhousing is more like it."

Sidebar on roughhousing. It is the best thing ever to roughhouse with your dad. My dad did with us three girls. JD does with Colin or is starting to because he's finally big enough. It's one of those things that leave an impression with you forever. It's a sort of closeness not accomplished any other way. And here's the other thing I remember. When we did roughhouse with Dad, Mom would always call in from the other room, "You guys better knock it off. It's all fun and games 'til someone gets their eye poked out." Need I say it? Someone ALWAYS got their eye poked out. Not literally but figuratively. We never stopped until someone got hurt. One of those times ended Crisha, my little sister, in the emergency room with several stitches. But it was part of the fun I guess. Good times.

So, JD tells me how this was going down, the bed getting messed up, but I didn't really have a visual and the truth was, I didn't care. I just wanted my bed back to normal so when I crawled in at the end of the day it was an inviting place to be instead of the aftermath from a great storm. So last night, I go to get into my made bed and I notice it's off center. The whole bed is off center by 2 1/2 feet. My nightstand is completely against the wall, pinning the curtain against the wall like a wrestler who just lost. So, remembering that serious roughhousing happened this morning, I move the bed back to center. JD comes in and I tell him where the bed was. JD says with excitement, "You wanna know why?" I said, "I know why. You told me." This didn't satisfy my husband, he wanted to demonstrate. Needless to say, JD was the one who had moved the bed by falling on it over and over and over again as Colin "pushed" him. Crazy.

All fun and games 'til someone gets their eye poked out or until Mommy has to come in and clean up the trail. Note to husbands across America who read blogs: The art of roughhousing is to NOT get an eye poked out and to hide your trail. This leaves happy mammas. And everyone knows, when Mamma aint happy; aint nobody happy.