Tuesday, 18 July 2006

Boy Oneder strikes again

I am at work. My Mother-in-Law, who lives with us, is out with my Sister-in-Law. Hubster is working from home and is taking care of the boys.

I get a call from Middleman because his ear hurts (the doctor confirmed that he does in fact have an ear infection) and he wants medicine. I tell him to have Boy Oneder bring the Tylenol to Daddy and then I hear Hubster yell in the background, “Get out of here…now…BOTH OF YOU!” Middleman is OK with my suggestion to get the medicine, so we hang up.

Five minutes later, I call home to see what Hubster was so pissed about and Boy Oneder answers.

Here’s how the conversation goes down:

“Hi Boy Oneder.”

“Hi Mom.” I can hear the sadness in his voice.

“What’s wrong?”

”Dad yelled at us.”


”Because I went into your closet and (at this point, my heart is pounding…I KNOW what he is going to say) and I found this thing, like this little green round thing and when you push the button, it vibrates…”

I cut him off…”Boy Oneder, you shouldn’t be in our closet.” I am absolutely panicking because I know what he has found. I’m thinking if I get off the subject of the “green thing”, he will forget about wanting to know what it is.

“Dad said that your closet has personal things in it and I shouldn’t be in there.”

“He’s absolutely right, Boy Oneder. You shouldn’t be going through our things.”

“But I’m older now Mom. I’m not a little kid anymore.” His voice is cracking and he is ready to cry.

“Boy Oneder, it doesn’t matter how old you are, you shouldn’t be going through our things. Why were you in our closet in the first place?” I’m thinking…turn it around on him…make him feel guilty, then he won’t ask questions.

“Because there are some things in there that are cool and they are not personal things and you go through MY things.”

“I don’t go through your things, Boy Oneder.”

“Yes you do Mom.”

”OK Boy Oneder, I am at work. Go and play Gamecube with your brother and stay out of Daddy’s way. Nanna will be home very soon anyway.”

“OK – bye Mom.”


I am STILL mortified. How do you explain such a thing to a 10 year-old child. You just KNOW he’s going to ask when I get home…you just KNOW it. Pin It

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