It was quiet, too quiet to be the room of two small children. I was cleaning the living room when I happened to glance in the direction of their room. The sound of the velcro tabs on my son's cloth diaper cover being pulled apart could be heard throughout our small house. Like a dove, being released, the diaper flew through the air and landed with a wet plop on the hard wood floor.

With speed and agility my son, Kristoffer, climbed to the top of the dresser. He did what I called his Chippendale's dance. This dance was usually performed after bathing and before I could catch him to put clothes on. With outstretched arms he leaped like a monkey into the air. The baby crib mattress slid across the floor when he landed on it.

The moment I got a new diaper on him he suddenly decided he wanted to try going potty in his new potty chair. I removed the diaper, set him on the pot and went back to my work. After finishing he looked in the potty to see what he had produced and proudly announced "Mom! I pooped a nana!" He insisted I take a look at it. Yep, it looked like a nana.

I was tired so I sat on the couch thinking I'd just rest for a moment. My eyes closed and I began to dream. I dreamed someone was looking at me and I woke with a start. Kristoffer was sporting a brand new hair cut. He had cut the front himself while his sister, Leah, had helped by cutting the back. With my kitchen shears.

I grabbed the scissors from him and stomped into the kitchen. I stepped into something soft, cold and squishy. Mayo dusted with red gelatin powder. The floor was oozing with the contents of the refrigerator dumped in piles. A plop of mustard here, spaghetti there. Sprinkled about were pieces of bologna that had been chewed, then spit out. Several cups were filled with milk. Some were plain, while others had a slice of left over pizza crammed into them. In the silverware drawer I found my son's haircut. When I showed it to him he attempted to act innocent which might have work if he hadn't been the only blond in the family.

I looked about the kitchen to see what else was amiss. Everything else appeared to be all right. I sent the kids off to their room and started to clean the kitchen. At the same moment I realized something was missing, I smelled toast. On the floor of their room they had bread, butter, and the toaster. I prayed for their safety and the will not to kill them.

Finally the last excruciating minutes before bedtime passed and I put them to bed. Kristoffer's head hit the pillow and he was gone, dead to the world. Leah's head was under the blanket and I heard a crunching noise coming from it as she ate a piece of toast she had stashed. The cat, who had avoided Kristoffer during waking hours, jumped in bed with him as she did every night.

In my bedroom I found peace, solitude and my pillows smeared with peanut butter.

Learn more about this author, Roxan Finnell.
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