The aliens have embedded homing chips in my children’s brains.
Or maybe alarms.
Picture a quiet morning with the television off and the kids in their rooms, playing without incident.
Children are still playing in their rooms.
I picked up my phone – mind you, they couldn’t see me since I was in the living room – and Ollie screamed at Cara. I put my phone down and started to go check out what was going on. They both started laughing. Not at me. To each other. They still couldn’t see me.
I sat back down, grabbed my laptop for the phone number to Samsung, dialed the number and the second the phone was to my ear, Cara came streaking into the living room with Ollie fast on her heels. Screaming, hitting and crying ensued.
Woe is me.
I relocated to our bedroom and they followed.
I stood in the bathroom with the door shut and my hip set against the door. They pounded and barked at me – don’t ask.
After ten minutes of cajoling, it became crystal I wasn’t going to get anywhere with the Samsung chick and graciously ended the call. Graciously because I refrained from begging.
I cracked open the bathroom door and peeked out expecting an ambush. The kids stood there. Quiet.
They both glanced at the phone in my hand, its screen dark. Ollie smiled at me and then they both turned tail and ran into Cara’s room.
Since my phone was no longer in use, the alien homing device/alarm had been temporarily deactivated and the children’s services were no longer needed.