Get Out the Fire Extinguisher

I think my exact words were,

"Are you trying to make me run down the street with my hair on fire?!?"

'Cause that's what I threaten when things go awry.

We (the boy and I) have been living in a two-person household for the entire month of January. Dan has been away at training. To prepare himself and his fellow soldiers for yet another "fun-filled, all-expense paid trip to the beautiful Middle East."

We USUALLY do fine when we are without him.

This month has gone by beautifully. The boy has been sweet, helpful, and very good in his daddy's absence.
However, he decided to try and make up for the entire month of angelic behavior in a 24 hour period.

First, I asked him about some missed questions on a pre-test...

The boy says, "OH MY GOSH, MOM!" (Raised voice and eye-bulging included.)

Then, I reminded him (get ready) that basketball practice was "picture night."

The boy says, "Great. I WAS having a good day until you told me that!" (Snorting and stomping included.)

There were more and more of these little incidents (mini tantrums) as the day wore on. He even asked me if I wanted to duel him in an "insult contest." (My answer was one of those beautiful and rare parenting gems, but... he was not impressed. There was more groaning and eye rolling.)

And my personal favorite...

I was trying to gather my "stuff" to head out the door to picture-taking ("hell on earth" to the boy) practice. Ending a phone call, looking for my keys, making sure I have the wallet and checkbook, turning off lights, etc., etc., etc. You know how the "fly-out-the-door moments" are, right?

Well, Mr. Funny Pants (who is waiting outside) decided that he'd play a game of "Ring and Run" with me.

He rings the doorbell.

I answer from where I'm standing (knowing it's him), "What do you need, son?"

No reply. He rings again.

I answer (louder), "If you need me, you can come inside and talk to me. I'm busy."

No reply. He rings again. And again. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Faster and faster.

When I stomp to the door to yell at him in my best red-neck momma voice, he runs.

To the front door where he proceeds to ring THAT doorbell. And laugh like a maniac.

I calmly return to my "gathering" and try not to allow the persistent ding-donging of the doorbell to get to me.

That's when the knocking started. Tapping on the windows, rapping on the doors. Tapping. Ringing. Rapping. Ringing.
You would have thought he'd recruited the neighborhood children to help him.
How is it possible for one child to run all around our house and make all that racket?

Then, I lost it.

The mind-numbing ringing and tapping and psycho giggling caused something deep inside me to snap, and I SCREAMED,

"AAGGHH! IF YOU DON'T STOP THAT AND GET IN THE CAR THIS INSTANT, I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"

One of my finer red-neck momma moments. (Aren't you proud, honey?)

As we drive away to practice a few moments later, I make my "hair on fire" comment.

His reply to me?

"Gosh. Girls just don't know how to take a joke."

PS... I realized last night that our side doorbell and our front doorbell have two different rings.