Mush! Mush Damn You!

I started this post about five days ago. I have typed it a few letters at a time while walking past the keyboard. The children have agreed to be quiet only under one circumstance: that I never stop moving. I am their sled dog.

They cry. I put one in a pouch around my neck. I walk. It is quiet. I stop briefly, say to take a bite of my dinner or use the restroom. It screams.

When I am too weak to go on, they will accept a ride in the car where they take issue with traffic signals. Red lights are two minute scream fests. Run them, they say. We dare the police to pull us over. Have you heard us scream, dad? Would you sit through this long enough to write a ticket? Drive!

If we ever sit, they must be bounced. There can be no rhythm or syncopation to the bouncing. You may not use a rocker or an electric bouncing chair. All movement must be random and unpredictable. It must be created by a beleaguered parent or it is not satisfying.

We are exploring the option of living for the next few months on a very large trampoline.