Six Red Power Rangers

I'm afraid it was my bright idea to have four boys over for a movie playdate last Sunday. Unlike my husband, I survived with all my fingers intact and no new bruises although my ears are still ringing. What is it with boys and yelling louder than Billy Mays?

When I watch little girls play, I'm amazed how they understand hierarchy and fall right in.  Yes, at times I've seen some bitch slapping, backstabbing claws drawn cat fights but all in all, girls listen to the voice of reason. But in a pack of boys, everybody wants to be the "good guy" or the Red Power Ranger or wield the Blue Light Saber and nobody gives in, they just want to fight the bad guy!

Of course, my husband understood this better than I did and knew what to do to protect himself. He just stood in one spot, hunched over and took their blows made with tiny, bare fists. I, on the other hand,  would run from the potential of pain inflicting plastic. Naturally, their response was to strike - hard. The older kids whacked me in the knees as if they were Tonya Harding's boyfriend, while the two little brothers ran their Diego trikes over my foot.

"Excuse me, am I on holiday in Cambodia?" I'm thinking. Just in time, the pizza arrived. A minute later and I would have been drawn and quartered.

I did learn a couple of things in my ever-surveying mind. Kids love Papa John's pizza over authentic New York pizza for some reason. They prefer original Dorito's over any other flavor, with Cool Ranch coming in second and Capri Sun wins over Apple n' Eve, hands down. If you have at least one of these items stocked at home, you can host a party for six Red Power Rangers, too.

Little Brother Is Watching

I drink a pint of ice water in the morning. It wakes me up better than a cup of Joe, plus it doesn't make me want to take a gigantic dump for ten minutes. I do have to pee, but that doesn't take more than a few  seconds. Precious seconds that my five-year-old took advantage of this morning by stashing little brother's Power Ranger figures into his backpack.

Unfortunately for him, little brother was watching. As I washed my hands I heard the little socialist rat out his big brother as he screamed, "You can't take my Power Rangers toys to school, Zuki!"

I said nothing about it. They were ordered to put on their coats and shoes and as they were preoccupied with zippers and velcro straps, I quietly unloaded the toys and stuffed them under the pile of blankets. The unsuspecting Kindergartner happily skipped off to school, probably even patted himself on the back for getting away with murder.

What I would pay to have seen his reaction when he unzipped that front pocket of his backpack and saw nothing inside.

Yes, mom's a stinker but I think the lesson of this story is, don't do anything illegal while Little Brother is watching.