I must be in a confessional frame of mind. Last night I confessed just how much I hate packing school lunches. I know hate is a strong word and one that should be reserved for the most extreme cases. It still fits here.
Tonight, as part two of my two-part confessional series, I’m going to introduce to you to a very special friend: Mrs. Marpingle. Mrs. Marpingle entered into our lives about a year ago. I really don’t know much about her except that she takes in little boys who don’t listen to their moms and dads so she can teach them good behavior and good manners.
Kind of like a bizarro Mary Poppins, she showed up totally unexpectedly one night as I was struggling to get a 5 year-old, a 3 year-old and a 2 year-old out of the bath and into bed. I had hit a gigantic wall. I had run out of rational thought. I was hoarse from yelling “Stop wrestling in the bathtub!” And I could no longer count to five in a menacing tone. So out popped Mrs. Marpingle.
A brief re-enactment:
I pick up my cell phone and pretend to dial. Pause for realism (like a 5-, 3- and 2-year old understand the whole phone ringing sequence and would recognize the ruse).
“Hi, may I please speak with Mrs. Marpingle?”
Splashing stops. All eyes on me.
“Oh, hi, Mrs. Marpingle. It’s me. I’m fine, thank you. And you?”
Pause again. Nod.
“Oh, good. Glad to hear that. So, here’s the deal: I’m having trouble getting the boys to listen to me and I was wondering if you have some spaces available at your home tonight.”
Pause and glance sideways at bathtub to gauge reactions: Eyes are wide. Mouths are open.
“Oh really. Ok. Thank you. Talk to you soon. Bye-bye.”
Hang up.
“Who was that?”
“Who’s Missus McTingle?”
“It is Marpingle and she helps take care of little boys who don’t listen.”
1,2,3 out of the tub, in pajamas, teeth brushed sparkling clean and all tucked in–without a single whine, gripe, tear, push or shove.
I have never even said what Mrs. Marpingle does or how she gets little boys to behave. It’s Mrs. Marpingle’s secret; I don’t even know how she does it. But whatever she does, it works like magic.
So every now and then, when I am at my wit’s end and time outs, counting, and taking away the Wii aren’t working, I call Mrs. Marpingle. I have even been known (in very extreme cases) to pack an overnight bag for a certain misbehaving someone.
You are judging me right now, aren’t you? You can judge all you want but that overnight bag trick worked–no misbehaving for a week!
But the boys are getting older and figuring out more and more of life’s magic and mysteries. Chances are Mrs. Marpingle’s days are numbered and some one will call my bluff pretty soon. Which is why I need to find a sweet little old lady who lives in a house up in the mountains.
Any one have a grandma I can borrow in the case of an emergency? I promise to not really leave them there. But actually meeting Mrs. Marpingle would probably get me the most well behaved boys in the state for at least a year.
