t.r.o.u.b.l.e.

We made a quick trip to the library after school. I needed to check out a book that was on hold. The stop at the library was unplanned, and I told them we were only staying for a couple minutes.

No computer games, I said. "That's okay, Moma," they oh-so-sweetly responded. "We just want to color!"

When we arrived at the coloring table, my kids were the only ones. The coloring pages were neatly filed in the slots, and the crayons were all in the bucket. It was tidy and orderly.

That was when we arrived. After two milliseconds, Blessing #5 stormed through.

I was retrieving my library card out of my wallet and turned my head to find B#5 grabbing fistful after fistful of crayons, piling them on the table.

In case you weren't aware, a pile of crayons rolls.



There were crayons scattered all over the table, all over the bench, all over the floor. So, the conscientious mother that I am, I scolded the little cherub and started cleaning the crayons.

You know the rule: Always leave it cleaner than you found it.

Ha. That was unlikely. So I went by the next best rule: Leave it clean enough that you're not embarrassed to be seen walking away from it.

I got all the crayons back in the bucket. B#5 was no longer interested in coloring. He had moved on.

I grabbed him as he wiggled the mouse with one hand and was about to push the power button on the computer with the other. I told the kids we were leaving. Now.

B#5 was irritable. Mom's no fun, and he hadn't napped yet.

I sent B#2 and B#4 out the door and told them to wait on the chairs in the lobby. I was holding B#5. B#1 and B#3 were still coloring. I gave them the exaggerated jerk of the head, motioning toward the door. B#1 reluntantly left the table.

B#3 said he was still coloring.

Exaggerated head jerk accompanied by the you-had-better-get-up-now look.

Boy, that boy can be stubborn.

I went over to him, leaned down and said that we were leaving and he could color at home.

Boy, that boy can whine.

With the I-have-loud-kids-in-a-quiet-establishment supermom strength, I picked up the hollering child by the underarm and carried him to the exit... where he then collapsed in a heap like a pile of wet noodles.

I pushed that pile of wet noodles out the door with my foot.
Some people might say "kicked."

Noooo. I say "rolled."

With one book in hand (and a crying baby, a fussing preschooler, and two barefoot children), I left the library.

Ah, a drive-thru. Wouldn't that be handy. Or a complimentary delivery service.

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