I received this exact text from my husband today:
“hope your xlose…i am prisomer”
My reaction was poor. “WHAT?? I can’t leave the house for 2 measley hours to run errands without you needing me to come home and rescue you from your 4 yr old daughter?? Who rescues me when I’m home with both girls all day, every day! For the rest of my young life!”
Play the martyr often, do we?
Granted, I said all this in my head. Still…there it was.
When I got home, I was greeted at the door by my firstborn.
“Where is your father?”
Norah led me to her dark bedroom where I found my husband tied up with three ropes, his phone clutched in his hands. He couldn’t bring the phone above his waist because his hands were held fast by a rope looped about his feet. He also had a rope around his neck. I saw the red marks on his wrist where he tried to wiggle out. I wish I’d taken a picture.
Could he have gotten out? I honestly don’t know. He looked securely tied. These were sturdy ropes; the kind Scott uses to tie kayaks to cars.
Norah does love tying knots. She sometimes ties my skirts strings to the kitchen drawers when I’m cooking. I almost destroy myself, dinner, or a drawer when I turn to walk away. We are ever untying the most complex tiny knots from headphone cords, blanket tassels, silk streamers…
Should we be afraid? Or proud?
She could guide Scouts with those knots…that was a rather long 20 minutes.
Thanks for coming to my rescue.
Dang, I wish you would have taken a picture….That Bean is amazing!
Hilarious. Be proud and scared. This is my constant state as a parent.