My Kingdom

I am standing on the back deck looking out at my domain. I inhale a deep breath. A breath that brings smells of contentment, victory and general asskickery. Yes, this is my domain. This is my kingdom.

I look down from my deck, which is on the second floor of my house, and see the snow that covers my kingdom. I see the trees, long dormant in winters cold, sway gently and watch the icicles fall from them. I see the hole in the tree where I know Jeff the Squirrel and his family slumber the season away. Yes, this is my kingdom and I enjoy looking at it. I am complete.

I look down at my children. My precious children who now play in the snow. Angelic. Good kids. Sweet kids. I look at my daughter, who is now laughing. Hearing her cheer fills up my soul.

I look at my son. My sweet, innocent boy. He's smiling. He's waving at me. I return the wave as I soak in his admiration of me.

Then he gets hit dead on in the face with a snowball.

This is my true kingdom. Getting smacked with in the face with a snowball is my world.

The laughter that I heard from my daughter was not one of joy. It was one of mischief and carnage. The smile on the face of my son was one of unknowing victim. This is the Hossman world, this is the Hossman Kingdom. Chaos and destruction on the scale that would make the crusades look like a weekend outing.

But it is my world and I must lord over it. From my balcony I tell the minions:

"Minions!" I bellow. "What is that scream that is disrupting my early morning peace!"

"Nothing" my daughter says. But the laughter has stopped and we both know why.

"Little boy! Son!" I say "What has caused you to cry out in distress in such a fine morn?"

"She hit me in the face!" He screams, tears running down his cheeks.

I know this. I saw it happen. But for some reason I ask the question. I want to give them a chance to explain as any benevolent leader would even though I know that what I am about to hear is a bunch of dung spewed from a donkey.

"Little Hoss, my angel, why? Why have you done this?" Now it's time to get into my royal lecture. I get no answer. I did not expect one.

"That was not very nice." I tell her. I am just gearing up. "How would you like it if someone hit you in the face with a snowball. By the way, that was a very nice and accurate throw."

"Yes sir." she says quietly, head down, hood on her jacket back.

"Would you like it if I told your brother right now to hit you in the face with a snowball? Would you like it if I did that? No, you wouldn't. Because that's not very nice is it?"

"No sir." She says again.

A snowball sails hard from her right. I see the person who threw it out of the corner of my eye. It smacks Little Hoss right in the ear hold, dead on. Within 1/2 of a second, she is screaming and crying. And now my sweet son is no longer crying. He is laughing.

As a leader, one must always remember to choose his words carefully. One must not present a hypothetical situation to a 3 year old boy who desperately wants vengeance on his sister. He may take this as permission to bean his older sister in the ear hole like Randy Johnson.

My life is full of parenting fails.

I sigh, no longer inhaling breaths of contentment. I walk down the stairs to both my children. This is going to require a hands on approach. Hugs and lectures.

On the way down, on the last step, I bend down to grab the dogs leash so that no one trips over it on the way up. I hear the hurtle of an airborne object before I feel it make a wet splash on my on the back of my head. I stand up and the wet snow goes down my jacket right before the second snowball hits me in the neck.

This is my world. This is my kingdom.

1 comment:

  1. Great post, Hossman! You know, revenge is a dish best served cold... especially if it involves snowballs.