Screaming Optional

The distance between my bedroom and my eldest son's room is not that far. And with the smattering of furniture in the family room in between, it doesn't take much of an effort to create sound that replicates a jet engine in sheer volume. Or a yodeling competition in the Swiss Alps in echoing.

Tonight, after allowing the kids to stay up a generous 1.5 hours past their bedtime to watch the Olympics, I tucked everyone in and RAN with my computer for my hour of on-line time.* That's when it started.

"Mom?" Low and not too bothersome.

Me, thinking: I'm into my hour online and my butt is not getting off the bed.

"MOM?" Slightly higher and on the verge of annoying.

Still thinking: Twelve minutes in. NOT getting off the bed, buddy.

"MMMOOOOOMMMMMMMM!!!!!" Sounding like a cat on fire running through a gas station that just exploded.

Hyper-overdrive thinking: Thirteen minutes and change into my hour. Planted. On bed.

I start humming to keep annoying screaming from bothering me.

"MMMMMOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM."

Pissed thinking: If I just keep ignoring this, will it stop? Will he figure I'm in the shower and can't hear him? Will he just come back to my room and tell me what the problem is? I have LIMITED TIME HERE. I'm trying to blog and read email and cram all the Googling and Facebooking I can into this precious sixty minutes.

Then, silence.

I hate it when my kids do that.

Now I'm beginning to panic. What if Mike didn't lock the doors properly on his way out the door to the MAVS game? What if someone is holding my baby hostage and I'm not responding to his cries for help? What if something is on fire and he has been blocked from coming to my room?

OH.MY.GOSH. I'm the worst Mom in the world.

I toss the computer aside and practically run to the door of the room. As I'm going down the hall, another buddy asks "Can you sleep with me for a bit?" No. No I can't. Thanks for asking.

I make it to the family room and discover no smouldering evidence of a fire. There are no strange people anywhere near my son's room. In fact, my son seems cool as a cucumber. He's standing by his door, light on that was off after I tucked him in.

"You better be dying" I say.** "The way you are carrying on."

That's when I realize the purpose of all the screaming and gnashing of teeth.

It wasn't a hostage crisis gone fiery pit of death. It wasn't a real need for Mom. It was a need for a servant.

To turn on the friggin' fan. In 40 degree weather.

"I'm sorry Mom. Don't worry about it. I thought I needed you but I don't."

It is amazing to me how children learn to be self-sufficient in times of real crisis.

Tonight? My child's crisis was good enough that he learned to use a fan switch.

Yes. I am so very, very, very proud.


*Giving up chocolate and Diet Coke was SO MUCH EASIER THAN THIS. Goodness.

**Compassion is my middle name. Right after the first name of NO.