This past Saturday night my son Jack had a friend sleep over. Which isn’t alarming because Jack is only 9 1/2 years-old. If he was 23-years-old and still living in our garage until his Seals & Crofts cover band “finally gets traction” and he had a friend sleep-over, I probably wouldn’t be writing about it. I’d be in my closet drying my tears on a house cat.
Anyway, that night Jack and his buddy decided that they’d like to sleep on the sofa bed that’s upstairs in our playroom. I usually never go into our playroom because a) I don’t like Beyblades and b) I’m allergic to Cheez-It crumbs and c) I’m not sure if all of my vaccinations are up to date. It’s basically 600 square feet of Boy up there and for that reason, it’s better if I don’t know what goes on. I just pretend the various crashing and banging I hear over my head is thunder and it works out nicely for all of us.
In fact, up until Saturday, the last time I was in the playroom was a couple of weeks ago when almost-12-year-old Sam decided that the best way to get a book out of the bookcase—was to stand on the back of the couch and jump at the bookcase. My sweet Sam then learned two things: 1) The bookcase is five feet away from the couch and 2) He can only jump two feet. So that day I couldn’t pretend the crash I heard was thunder because thunder doesn’t scream, “Mom! I think I broke some of my private parts! Owwwww! I’m dying! Hey, can you email my math teacher and tell her I’m too injured to take the quiz tomorrow? Owwwww!”
Of course, he’s also the same kid who just did this:
When I told my mom that we had to use dish soap to get him loose and how ridiculous it was for a kid to do something so dumb, she said, “Uh-huh. When you girls got stuck, we used to spray PAM on you.” Oh. Right.
Back to Saturday night in the playroom.
Because we had an overnight guest, I decided I should peek in the playroom bathroom (aka “The Chevron Station”) and make sure it was in good condition. Which is sort of like looking at yourself naked in a full-length mirror once you’re past 40 and expecting to see your boobs closer to your chin than your ankles, but still. I had hope.
Here’s what I found:
– Bright, orange fingerprints all over the light switch causing me to momentarily panic that one of the kids had a blood disorder
– One Cheeto on the ground, which was bad because snacks aren’t allowed upstairs, but good because—no blood disorder
– A white sock
– Another white sock
– My favorite pen that I thought I lost on an airplane two years ago
– Another white sock
– A pool toy that was wet even though it wasn’t currently in the pool
All in all, not too bad. The sink was even still mostly white and the SpongeBob Squarepants soap dispenser was only coated in 10 layers of soap scum, so I was feeling pretty happy about the way the boys were taking care of their bathroom. Until I saw this:
“What happened to the toilet paper thing?” I asked the boys.
“The what?” they answered.
“You know the thing that goes in the middle of the toilet paper holder. It has a spring in it.”
“Oh, right. That. I totally know what happened to it,” Sam said, looking up from his video game with one eye. “Someone musta stole it.”
“What? Who would steal that, Sam? Like, who would break into our house just for that?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Save your questions for the cops, lady. I’m not a Hardy Boy.”
Not getting the answer I wanted, I stood there giving them the stink eye until Jack finally put down his baseball cards and came over to me with a concerned look on his face. I knew I could count on the kid who likes things nice and orderly to help me out. “Do you know where it is, Jack?” I asked sweetly. “We kind of need it.”
“No, I don’t know where it is, mommy, and I definitely didn’t use it as a weapon in the treehouse yesterday,” he said. “But why don’t you just put the toilet paper on the floor? You know, next to all of the socks.”
Anyone hear that thunder?
i very nearly peed in my pants while reading this.
Nice. I think this almost makes me feel good about being the mom of two girls.
Two TEENAGE girls.
Almost.
“Save your questions for the cops, lady. I’m not a Hardy Boy”? Did he really?? What a smartass. I love it.
Think of this way. The sleepover kid probably would have been confused to find an intact toilet paper holder, he presumably also being a 9 1/2 year old boy prone to using household implements as tree house weaponry. He was probably all, “Why isn’t the toilet paper down on the floor with the white socks and cheetos, like it’s supposed to be?”
Definitely not a Hardy Boy. But he’s good-looking so he might have a chance to someday be Shaun Cassidy or Parker Stevenson.
We have a thief who takes the very same thing. We have four bathrooms, and currently, only the master bath has a functioning toilet paper holder.
You’ve raised some fine boys, Wendi. My 9 year-old son would have just used the socks.
“I’m not a Hardy Boy.” I’m totally using that from now on.
I don’t want to scare you (OK, I kinda do) but your willful ignorance is probably very good. My Mom is still finding out about things my brothers did that make her need to sit down (my brothers are now in their 40s).
For example, the BB holes she found in the wall in the back of their closet when they moved out.
One of my brother has two boys of his own now and I can’t WAIT to see him get his now.
We lost ours a while back, and I thought they came with the house and so I had no idea where to find one or what to call it to put it on my husband’s Home Depot list. Looked in every store in town. Finally found a two-pack (why 2??) at Food Lion on one of those thingies that hang off the shelves with the stuff you never thought you’d buy. (I look on those for fodder for my instagram feed.)
How does one even move forward after being told her child is not a Hardy boy? ONE DOES NOT. (One’s children might find a use in the bathroom for those socks, though. Dun dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuun).
What are those stupid Beyblades, anyway? My kindergartener keeps talking about them & I couldn’t even look them up b/c I couldn’t figure out what he was saying. I thought he had a (new) speech impediment or something. I guess I’ll go Google them now that I know I don’t have to invest in speech therapy for the kid.
We’re lucky in that we still have three functional toilet paper holders. However, we are missing half a dozen spatulas and a whisk. Makes me think there is some sort of underground kindergarten baking gang in town.
I hate the sound of beyblades in the morning; they sound way to dental-techniciany to be comforting. Here’s a thought: perhaps keeping the toilet roll on the floor, not in easy reach, perhaps, will prevent wads and wads of toilet paper from forming a semi-permanent land mass in the pipes.
Maybe.
Well, at least you didn’t have to fish the spindle out of a poop-filled toilet. Parenting tip: never force a child to change the toilet paper while she is actually ON the potty.
“600 square feet of boy” – why does that sound so awesome as the mother of a 4yo boy? The reality is: Cheetos. And lonely socks. And no toilet paper thingy.
hilarious! I love that they even know who the Hardy Boys are–especially since I’ve always had a mad mad crush on Parker Stevenson.
I’ve been watching General Hospital for over 30 years, and I’ve never heard of a blood disorder that leads to orange fingerprints.
Oh, Jesus. As the mother of a son and caretaker of many dirty little son-friends, I laughed my ass off reading this, starting here, “until his Seals & Crofts cover band ‘finally gets traction'” and right through to the end. Right there with you, woman.
That missing toilet paper holder is going to give me OCD nightmares! Also the fact there are an uneven number of socks. Best reference ever: Seals & Croft cover band! Whole different sort of nightmare!
Now I miss the Hardy Boys.
We had this experience with the toilet paper thing in the guest bathroom. It has yet to surface (it’s been four months). We have four suspects and no clues. Two things have happened–we bought a new one at Home Depot, and NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO USE THE GUEST BATHROOM ANYMORE. Drag your lazy little asses upstairs and use the bathrooms that are designated for you (which also lack toilet paper thingies, but that’s THEIR problem).