Pick Your Battles
This past weekend, the kids went to a birthday party with J. When they returned, they had huge inflatable swords. The things were about four feet long – taller than either of the kids.
We inflated them, of course, and had ourselves a battle. I was a Giant with a shield (pillow) and a rather scary tickle-attack. They had their swords.
It was a mighty battle that raged all around the house. Dogs and mommas alike fled before its ferocity. At the end, as I was running out of breath, I accidentally lowered my pillow. They got me with their swords.
I dropped my shield, fell backwards over the back of the couch, landed on the cushions, and then rolled off to end up wedged between the couch and the ottoman. It was truly a dramatic death scene.
I gave one last shiver and moan to let them know that I was truly defeated. I figured it was a pretty good end to the whole thing.
Unfortunately, instead of celebrating their victory, they shouted “Get him!” and ran around the couch to pummel me with their inflated swords. was wedged between the couch and the ottoman, so there was little I could do to defend myself. For that matter, I couldn’t even stand up. One of them was standing on the ottoman. I couldn’t move without pushing it away and that would have knocked him over.
So I ended up lying there and taking the pummeling until they ran out of steam.
I think our next battle may end differently.