The Brother Commission

If you think kids aren’t organizing, you are sadly mistaken.

Brothers, gather round. Our agenda for today’s meeting is quite full, so we should get started on time. Keith, I believe we talked about not bringing our light sabres to these discussion groups. If you feel that strongly, then you should have added that to today’s agenda.

Item one: Play Time.

We are only partway through winter and the novelty of our Christmas gifts wore off weeks ago. Let’s face facts, Mom isn’t exactly bringing her A-game when it comes to our recreation time. We all heard her recent rant about it not being her “job” to “entertain” us and if we are “bored” there’s “dusting” we can do, followed by some muttering about that’s why she gave us brothers. So we are on our own. At least until Daddy gets home.

Everyone loves a round or two of Toilet Tag, but let’s workshop it a bit to make it more fun. No, Keith – you know weapons are not allowed. Keep thinking.

Let’s hear from Littlest. His attention span is the shortest so he will likely leave before we adjourn.

Brilliant! Underwear Toilet Tag. So simple, yet so effective. Same game, but in only our underwear. All in agreement? Motion passed.

Ok, technically the Chair does not recognize Littlest again, but to avoid a tantrum, let him speak.

Another home run idea! Underwear Basement Balloon Soccer. It combines two of our favourite things: physical aggression and pantlessness. Pass him a gummi worm, he deserves it.

I move we continue to workshop this skivvies theme. All in favour? Great, let’s do this.

What else is better in underwear? Speak slowly, the five-year-old is taking minutes.


Pet Store

Train Station

Sibling Sandwich. Someone is going to have to get Mommy on board with us using the couch cushions. She wasn’t thrilled when we made that labyrinth last week and then “forgot” to put them back.

Air Hockey. Probably to do with aerodynamics, further study is needed.

Hide-and-Seek. I think we all remember last Thursday’s unfortunate incident, so a reminder to steer clear of folding doors.





Snack. Yes, Keith, both snack times will be proposed.

Dinner. Let’s agree to keep working on Daddy regarding this one, he’s so focussed on “hygiene”. I think Mommy has just resigned herself, so she’s a potential ally.

Listen, we need to adjourn for Snack Time. Sorry, Keith, for now, keep your pants on.

Responsible Parenting

Once you’ve had kids for a while you can tell the difference between their cries of distress and yelps of pure joy. However, there are some things that no parent wants to hear coming from the basement while the children play. A good mom would intervene or at the very least investigate in that situation.

I’m telling.

Yeah! No pants!

That was your own fault.

Shhh, you’re okay.

This is war!

Don’t tell Mommy.

No, YOU let go.

Hold still.

Well, I didn’t give him the marker.

My turn with the handcuffs.


Uh oh.

You deserved it.


Are you breathing?


A responsible mom would hear those raised voices and rush to check on the little darlings. Then there’s Option B:  Carry on and hope for the best. After all, they will definitely come upstairs to find you if there is any blood.


What’s the most frightening thing you’ve heard your little cherubs say. And yes, sometimes silence is the scariest thing of all.


Generally speaking, I’m a pretty cautious boy. Sure, I’ve ridden in a laundry basket a tad too close to the stairs, but who hasn’t? I have fallen out of the tub, but I was young and didn’t know better. Doesn’t everyone run around a pool? It’s far too tempting.

I have done my share of jumping on the bed and to her credit, my mom has told me repeatedly to stop it. Usually she references the kid across the street who broke his arm jumping on his bed (dummy). But it is so springy. And I have some pretty great dance moves that just cry out for a mattress to showcase them.

Ok, I’ll admit that naked wrestling with my brothers showed a lack of good judgement. Ditto on naked couch hopping. But I stand behind my invention of underwear bedroom hurdles. It’s amazing.

In hindsight, I’m relieved that Mom shut down some of my riskier activities. She was probably right that box-tobogganing down the stairs was dangerous. Putting a lanyard around my brother’s neck as a dog leash did restrict his breathing so, good call, Mom.

For all her warnings and worrying, you’d think she would have foreseen the real safety hazard in our house. It’s been sitting in our cupboard for years – and she’s the one who brought that menace into our home.

I’m not talking about matches, sharp knives, or scissors. I’ve never done anything questionable with those. No, the real instrument of pain was lurking in the sewing basket all along. It beckoned me with it’s tempting blue switch and curved exterior. I admit that part of my motivation was to make the brothers laugh, but you never know the purpose of a new tool unless you test it out, right? Who WOULDN’T think it was meant for your underarm?

There was pain, skin was broken, blood appeared. And then I heard Mom say, “Next time, check with me before you use the clothes shaver on your armpit.” Too little, too late, Mom.

I blame myself. I blame the manufacturer. Mostly I blame my mom.

Do not be duped by it's size. It's gonna get you.
Do not be duped by it’s size. It’s gonna get you.