We’re supposed to be filling out the school registration packets. We got them weeks ago and—surprise! They’re due tomorrow!
In my defense, I blame this situation on our long-standing family policy regarding To Do items, namely, “If it isn’t on fire, bleeding profusely, or emptying its body cavities on the rug, it can wait.”
And yet despite our impending deadline, the boys keep getting distracted.
TIGER: Ha! Your Zombie Outbreak Survival Club is on the school’s list of student organizations!
SQUIRT: Sick.
TIGER: Are you going to be a member this year?
SQUIRT: Nah. There’s not much more you can do with it. I mean, we’ve already watched all the movies. What else is there to learn?
If it came down to choosing between fighting zombies or filling out paperwork, I’d think I’d pick the undead.
In fact, I panicked when I remembered these registration packets, but then I realized that if my kids are old enough to order a Double-Double all by themselves, then they’re certainly old enough to help me fill out school paperwork—or at the very least buy me a chocolate shake.
Besides, the way my brain’s been working lately, I need all the help I can get.
BONNIE: (waving a release form) You call this completed? Hel-LO! Name? Address? Do you even know what your address is, Squ— I mean, Hub— I mean, Moj… WHOEVER YOU ARE!
TIGER: (raises one eyebrow) “Whoever you are?” (takes paper) Just for that, dear Mother, I’m putting my address down as living across the street. At least THEY know who I am.
Theoretically, there’s no reason the boys can’t fill everything out. Theoretically, all I should have to do is sign my name in the spaces marked “Parent Signature.”
Unfortunately, the gap between theory and practical application is huge—especially when one member of your team tosses aside the “Student Code of Conduct” in order to reenact the shower scene from Psycho with his pen.
SQUIRT: WAH! WAH! WAH!
TIGER: (calmly) Mom.
BONNIE: (not so calmly) Tig— I mean, Hub— I mean, Moj— I mean… (waves at Squirt)
TIGER: (leans over and whispers) “Squirt.”
BONNIE: Squirt! Yes, thank you. Squirt! STOP IT RIGHT NOW AND FILL OUT THOSE FORMS!
Now, maybe my brain isn’t what it used to be, but even in its prime it never ran at the high production level exhibited by Squirt’s intestinal tract.
SQUIRT: (primly) I must go to the bathroom. (puts down Psycho pen and leaves)
BONNIE: Figures! Whenever there’s any work to be done! (calls after him) And don’t use my bathroom!
(Bonnie and Tiger look at each other.)
TIGER: You must forgive him, Mom. It was… his bulging colon.
BONNIE: Ugh!
TIGER: (warming up) It was controlling him.
BONNIE: Hmph.
TIGER: (intoning) It was BULGING to EXTREME limits. It was his COLON’S fault.
BONNIE: Heh! “Colon Boy.”
TIGER: That’s the spirit. And frankly, it’ll be easier to remember than “Squirt.”
