Monday, February 6, 2017

Scissors = Anarchy

Now let me set the scene for you… years of skill and trade knowledge gleaned from those masters of repair Handy Manny and Bob the Builder have coalesced into a brilliant idea inside my child. We have secured building materials in the form of one large box, yellow masking tape, a butter knife and a pair of scissors absconded from grandma’s block of kitchen knives. So without further ado construction begins. The cutting and prep work assisted by the warden of my childhood aka Grandma, who thought fun was a four letter word, has been carefully done. You know how they say “the best laid plans of mice and men” well this is where everything falls apart.

During the taping of the newly created shutters for this box palace my child sticks her hand into the carefully negotiated for scissors and proceeds to discover that the handle is cracked. She discovers this not based on a visual inspection but based on the fact that the scissors themselves opened like the gates of Hell and then snapped shut on the skin between her thumb and index finger. Now the real fun begins, said child begins screaming, said warden of fun comes running into the room upset by the howls of her progeny one generation removed, I being accustomed to the howls, screams and laments of the aforementioned child maintain a state of Zen like calm. We remove the offending scissors and so begins my job of calming two very upset females down.

If you ever find yourself in this position know that you will need two glasses of cool water, one band-aid, antibiotic ointment and a comfy seat to sit on while you work. First you will begin by removing the offending item, in this case the scissors, from the sight of the victim. Second, apply cool water in the form of drink. This does two things 1) it will help the injured and/or hysterical parties focus on something other than what just happened and 2) it will stopper their cake holes so you don’t have to hear them scream. Third, make a joke or some other situation to create laughter. Fourth, cuddle and rock the injured party. Lastly, apply bandage and ointment.

Carrying on….
After 20 minutes of hysterics we have reached a level of normalcy. There are sniffles and snuffles emanating from my offspring and apologies flying from my mother. I, trying to make the best of the situation by suggest we throw away the scissors, “with extreme prejudice,” to help lighten the mood. My mother sensing my meaning goes to the kitchen with my child and makes a big show of throwing the scissors away. This idea is accepted to much acclaim by the victim and we proceed to watch as my mother throws the scissors into the trashcan. Then the universe decided to add to the fun, apparently if you throw scissors away with enough force into a plastic 13 gallon trashcan you run the risk of them deciding to exhibit a shocking capability to bounce out of said can and become a weapon.

Well as you may very well have guessed the scissors flew out of the trashcan but this time they decided to release their rage on my mother. She is subsequently is stabbed in the foot by rouge scissors, which scares not only my daughter who is watching this but also her 10 month old puppy. Now the puppy, who we can call the tiny terrorist, is so shocked by this series of events that he yelps and takes off running from behind my mother. He regrettably heads in the direction of his owner, presumably for comfort, who happens to have her grandmothers 7 month old cat standing next to her. This causes the cat to bolt, running into my daughter who then suffers the full force of her puppy running into her as well. These events lead to the rebirth of screaming and crying which is again handled as outlined above and after another 15 minutes of plying my trade as a mother, everyone is calm.

At which point I notice the front door of my parents home open very slowly and see my father cautiously stick his head in as if he was a turtle looking out of a shell. In this moment the look on his face tells me he has been standing outside the door for some time and decided not to come in because of the demonic wailing and moaning that has been emanating from his home for over half an hour. I suddenly wish I had been given the choice to hide outside but as all has become right in the world I put it behind me and enjoy the rest of the G rated animated movie we are watching, because a girl needs some cultured entertainment.

And all this because of dumb construction shows… 

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