Analyst (mother) recommends troop surge and additional funding for mochas

Some events have transpired this week that have highlighted an area in our family life that needs attention.  A certain analyst (that would be me) has been picking up chatter that a certain criminal element (one of the boys) has been conducting clandestine operations against a neighboring tribe (his younger brother).  His weapon of choice that has been provoking shouts and panicked flight is a slingshot.  Clearly, Homeland Security has some work to do. Some days I feel like General Petraeus, overseeing wartime ops and issuing daily reports to the Commander in Chief when he comes home from the office.  Commander:  “How were things on the front lines today?” General:  “Sir, there was a hostile incident involving two of our own.” Commander:  “Friendly fire?” General:  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘friendly.’  An enemy combatant with your last name has been terrorizing his younger brother with his slingshot.” Commander:  “Do you have a plan?” General:  “I’d like you to approve additional funding for the war effort, in addition to a troop surge.” Commander:  “Additional funding?  Troop surge?” General:  “I need money for a mocha.  Have to keep up my strength, you know.  The ‘troop surge’ would be you, surging up the stairs to pound your son.” Commander, looking pale:  “Do we have any chocolate around here?”

It was about a week ago that I really began noticing that the weapon in question was being used for nefarious purposes.  It was Saturday, and those two were nowhere to be seen.  As they had a list of chores to do, I finally put boots on the ground and went to investigate.  After repeated calling, the owner of the weapon appeared, tearing toward the house from a break in the pines.  With unerring maternal instinct, I read guilt all over his face. “What were you doing?” I asked him.  “Hunting Brother with my slingshot,” he said sheepishly.  Sometimes you just don’t want to know.  Sometimes “don’t ask, don’t tell” is the easy way out.  Sometimes, all you want for Mother’s Day (if you can’t have a cease fire) is a one-way ticket to Fiji.  I caught him again later that day as his brother and I worked in a flower bed.  There he came, slinking around the front porch on his stomach like a ninja, looking to plant in pebble in brother’s hide.  Big mistake.  His mother called a draft on the spot and instead of a marksman, he was pressed into service as a groundskeeper with his only hardware now being a standard-issue trowel.  The kicker came a few days later when I hauled the youngest three with the stroller, a bike, and a ripstik up to the bike path.  After unloading, this repeat offender immediately took off on his brother’s bike, tying him up in absolute knots.  When his brother finally reclaimed the bike, he followed him around, making threatening motions and taking potshots with the you-know-what.  It is clear that security here must be tightened.  We are considering diligent weapons checks at every entrance.  This would involve frisking the suspects, turning all pockets inside out, and thoroughly inspecting the oral cavity.  We must put a stop to terrorism among us.  Meanwhile, the toddler has been busy wreaking his own brand of havoc this week.  He was standing in the back room the other day, looking out the window (or so I thought), watching his brothers who were – in theory – burning trash and hauling out recyclables.  When I finally twigged to the fact that he was no innocent bystander, he had chucked every shoe and flip-flop out the back window, followed by his chunky step stool and a clean pair of khakis.  It wasn’t until he had the kitchen sink halfway out the window that I caught on to his game and shut his little operation down.  Hoo boy.  I realize it’s a good 16 years before we can declare permanent troop withdrawal.  I know that there will be plenty more “surges” needed before our jobs as general and commander are done.  But I also know that it’s in everyone’s best interests to have a happy, relaxed general.  So step aside, please, while I go AWOL for two hours.  I’m addressing morale issues at the coffee shop.