Children of Mass Destruction, and Other Global Concerns

6:25 PM - Jun. 11, 2006 - Add to the Wildness

So I walk into the kitchen, and there’s fried egg plastered on everything. It’s all over the counter. It’s squished in the crack at the top of the dishwasher door. It’s very definitely underfoot. I reach under the sink to find the dishcloth where it usually hangs on the rack to dry. It’s gone. I feel a moment’s panic as my hand flaps fruitlessly in the darkness under there.

Over on the cutting board, there’s a large plate with a few slices of uneaten French toast. Next to it is an unwashed loaf pan. A handful of buns are scattered about.

On the other hand, the sink is pristine – at least in the sense of having no dirty dishes in it. The stovetop is not. The table has been wiped, though. I wonder if it’s a booby-trap.

The Children have been here again. They have cooked. They have eaten. They have run away. I did drag them back and have them clean up their dishes, but they obviously had their lawyers interpret the fine print about the egg.

Does it not make sense that if the point is to clean up in the kitchen, spreading frying pan scrapings hither and yon is probably not on the to-do list? To quote that Canadian of questionable value, Jim Carrey: "C-o-u-n-t-e-r-p-r-o-d-u-c-t-i-v-e." Well, I think in that case it was something to do with driving over your neighbours. Or maybe it was hacking off your own arm. Memory fails me. But the point remains.

I really think I should send my kids to Afghanistan. It would solve a lot of the Canadian troops’ problems. I see it this way:

Enter two cute, blond, blue-eyed children, ages ten and eight, with excellent social skills. "Hi, Death-Squad! How are you today? Can we make you some breakfast?"

Death-Squad (gullibly): "Aren’t you cute little spawn of the Great Satan! However did you get here? Of course you can be our kitchen slaves!"

Twenty minutes later, the Afghan insurgents’ entire armoury is glued to itself with egg, cinnamon and milk, and the Children of Mass Destruction have vanished irretrievably to skip through the hills, singing tunes from The Sound of Music. Amnesty is declared when Taliban rockets are found to fire more like the Royal Canadian Air Farce’s Chicken Cannon. Several Canuck soldiers are lost in riotous laughter. Bin Laden is captured by a Special Forces task squad tracking the cloying smell of burnt butter. The war ends, and Afghan citizens everywhere are found to have added a new home recipe to their breakfast menus, erroneously dubbed "Canadian toast." Feeling snubbed and irritated, French people everywhere (except Quebec, or when the separatist polls are up, including Quebec) begin putting "Freedom Syrup" on their crepes.

At least, in my world, that’s how things work. Support your troops, folks. We didn’t ask for war – but let’s face the fact that it was brought to us.

Untitled Comment

hmmm...yours and mine together might make quite a threat. Especially if it is the day of something that requires everyone to just not get into anything. Do you have any idea how many messes a child can make getting ready for church the day of an open house? It was our miracle for Sunday...

gottsegnet - 10:49 PM - Jun. 11, 2006

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