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The Bathroom Batallion
Standing at the kitchen sink, I watched as they filed past, going who knows where to do who knows what. Like stair steps, they marched, beginning with the biggest and straighter–faced and ending with the smallest and smirk faced. The stripped willow branches were carried with pride. I fought the urge to disarm them and instead turned my attention to my household duties.
As I rolled dough for chicken and dumplings, the next thirty minutes went by without a hitch. Only an occasional hoop or holler from the other end of the house reminded me that I was not alone.
With chicken and dumplings simmering in the pot, I made a mental checklist of my household duties. Glancing at the basket of freshly dried clothes, I decided that I would tackle the laundry next. I began to sort and fold clothes. It must have been my imagination but I could have sworn the laundry had doubled in quantity.
It seemed as though the socks had multiplied. There must have been 70 pairs to match. After making five separate piles of clothes to distribute, I decided I'd better check on the warriors.
With my arms full of folded laundry, I walked past the bathroom door and froze in my tracks. I heard a lot of splashing going on in there and a young male voice shriek, "Kill those stingrays!"
Dropping clean clothes on the spot, I seized the doorknob and barged into the bathroom. Three brave souls poised strategically over a tub full of white stingrays. Their busy little hands maneuvered willowy harpoons that were flailing madly away.
"We killed 'em Mom! All 26 of 'em!" my six–year old proudly exclaimed.
Taking a deep breath, I started scooping the wet "stingrays," a.k.a. winged sanitary pads, out of the tub, threw them into the trash can and pulled the plug to discourage further water play.
"Mop up the water. It's all over the place," I told a frowning imp. I tossed a towel his way and went out of the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
I walked down the hall and put away some of the folded clothes. On the way back by the closed door, I heard some paper rustling and the sound of something being ripped open. I paused for a moment to try and guess what they were getting into this time. Then I heard an excited voice say, "Hey, this skinny tube would make a great bean shooter!"
I was afraid to open the door to see what the warriors had discovered. One unpleasant, unexpected surprise per day is enough excitement for this gal.
The next time the Bathroom Battalion strikes, if I'm lucky, maybe they'll tie each other up with dental floss and I'll have a little peace and quiet.
© 2003, Phyllis Johnson
About the author:
Phyllis Johnson is a freelance writer who admits to not even having sons. She only imagines the chaos possible in a house with three of them. She avoids taking dental floss to school for fear of being tied to her chair.
She's involved in a poetry group that has been working on a 200 poem chapbook. She's also in a romance writer's group. I write freelance for 2 newspapers and have written 4 feature stories in a month in addition to working at school. She's been published in numerous magazines (including Woman's World and being a freelance writer for two newspapers) and she has published nationally.
About the illustrator:
The artist, Lori Boocks received a master's of art degree from Old Dominion University in Virginia. Her work has appeared in places as close to her hometown as close as Norfolk, Virginia and as far away as China.
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