FIGS COMMUNICATIONS

The noise level seemed deafening.
"Mooooooooom," Patty screamed from the top of the stairs in her squeaky voice. "The dog chunked!" The voice traveled through the walls and into each kitchen appliance where it was regurgitated (pun intended) all at once.
I must say, I'm impressed at the way the mother was handling all of this.
"Patty, your noise level is at a nine, and remember we discussed that it should be at a four whenever there's a slight emergency?" said the mother of the three chaotic children. She didn't have too much to worry about, though. The house was the model home for the development and the carpet was a lost cause since the day they moved in, and that was eight years ago. Since then they've spent over $3,000 on carpet cleaning services before each major holiday. And for what? So, one day of each season relatives can admire the not-as-stained-as-before carpet? So, the mother could get more chances to bark "No one go in the family room, living room, OR dining room! And when you go upstairs, use your tippy-toes and step as close to the wall as you can!" Yeah, right. Carpet cleaning is one tradition that doesn't come cheap for this family.
Rachel, the twelve-year-old, descended the staircase carrying an array of bright binders, shoving past the dog and Patty. Halfway down, she said from over the banister, "We should get an intercom system like the Craigs have. All they have to do is push a button. When I slept over, Mrs. Craig used it to tell us dinner was ready and no one got mad, like we do when you scream it up to us and we hear you and say 'Okay' back, but you don't hear us, so you yell it again. And oh my gosh, when we went swimming, they played Carli's iPod over the intercom and we listened to the Beach Boys and you could hear it outside! Also, I think we need to get a snow cone machine, because Lindsay has one, and…"
Still standing over the stove, the mother let the noise of the vent drown out Rachel who sprawled her schoolwork on the kitchen table. Her eyes were wild as she whipped around, gesturing with a giant spoon, to face Rachel. "How many times do I have to tell you not to do your homework there? You get eraser scraps all over it, and you always manage to scratch the wood finish. There's a big table downstairs and it's quiet, so you can focus." I could tell you I didn't see that coming, but that'd be lying. You could tell she secretly wanted to abandon her matronly duties and sneak into the insulated semi­ soundproof basement. Personally, I think the kitchen is the best seat in the house. It's where all the hustle and bustle is. There's never a dull moment. I might be speaking with some bias, though, considering the spiders are in the basement.
Rachel retaliated, "Fine, but you have to tell Eric to turn the volume down." Oh, now we're cookin'! Rachel thought she had it so hard. Ha! If she could only see what I can see, she'd realize her mom has it ten times worse. But that's what seems to happen in life-you live in misery because you make yourself believe you're miserable. Then when you find out you're really not miserable, your life comes to an end. At least that's what I've witnessed.
"Honey, can you turn that down please? And for the last time, get your feet off the doors!" Eric, the middle child, was lying on the floor with his feet swinging the doors of the entertainment center. I remember when Rachel was in that exact same position awhile back. She was swinging the doors and then...crack...the right door split down the middle and the mother exploded. So, if this were a court case, I would defend the mother because her anger is justifiable. Without talking back, Eric obeyed his mother and the noise level went from feeling like you were at a rock concert to being in an elevator. But the background music to the Tony Hawk PS2 game was not the most obnoxious sound on the first floor. The random, quick clicking of the controller was enough to drive anyone or anything insane. I get a kick out of watching the mother try her best to conceal her irritation. Perhaps that's why the house was always a few decibels louder that the average American household.
The mother suddenly jumped and pivoted from the stove. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she has ants in her pants. Those rascals are everywhere! Well, looks like it took about five minutes for her to remember that Patty was upstairs with the sick dog. wish I had an instant replay button because what the mother is doing is absolutely superhuman. I swear, it could be an Olympic event the way she's scrambling for paper towels, snatching the waste basket and carpet solution from underneath the sink and pulling on the rubber gloves while flying upstairs, skipping steps.
HAHAHA! Oh, this is too classic. Talk about a Kodak moment! The mother froze, speechless, as Pally and the dog both stared up at her from inside the tub. "Patty!" the mother finally gasped. Patty had the dog's paw in one hand and her mother's expensive Bath & Body Works bubble bath, now only a third of the way full, in the other. They seemed to sense the mother's shocked state because they both froze and looked up from the tub. Covered in pink suds, Pally stammered as she tried to explain herself.
"J-Jack was messy. But he smells better now. And don't I smell good too, Mommy?"
I think that kid's going to grow up to be one smart cookie. I was surprised at how well the mother handled the little situation. "I-" the mother caught herself and started over, using a softer tone, "Yes, dear. You smell like flowers. Let's get you and Jack cleaned up, okay? Let the water drain and hold Jack so he doesn't..." I'm no psychic, but even /could predict what was coming next. The mother didn't act quickly enough. Jack started to wiggle his tail, then middle, and soon he was shaking all over. The mother sacrificed getting her pressed, white shirt wet by lunging to close the shower curtain before the suds got on the wallpaper, knocked over the rest of the bubble bath in the process. A valiant effort, but unsuccessful.
The mother yelled, just like she told her kids not to, down the stairs, "Eric! Come up here and help your sister!" The pattering of bare feet on the wooden floor got closer to the base of the steps. Eric obediently came to his mother's aid and started gently rinsing the two in the tub. Relieved, the mother responded to the timer on the stove. I could see the gears turning in her head. If I could read minds, hers would say, "Why am I putting my 4- year-old and the dog in the care of my 8-year-old? It'll have to do for the moment."
The garage door opened, as scheduled, at 6:25. I'll tell ya—you put this woman under pressure, and she'll set the table like she's dealing a poker game!
"Kids! Dinner!" the mother belted from the table. All I could picture was Mrs. Craig pleasantly announcing dinner was served over her intercom system. Beep beep beep. The alarm system went off, followed by Jack, resembling a wet rat, almost colliding with the father's briefcase. From the looks of it, it looks like the mother could really use some downtime. HA! Downtime! Never in any of my observances have I witnessed the mother practice "downtime."
The dinner table was its usual self, mostly comprised of long, pointless stories from Rachel with the occasional "wow" from the father. I was yawning, myself.
After the table was cleared, the dishes cleaned, and the kids' school lunches made, I watched as the mother made her way to bed. I would like to see her get some time to herself. I think she deserves that much. I'll be rooting for her....
Rachel turned in her bed so her body was inclined to her iHome. 7:35 AM. Don't you just love knowing something that someone else doesn't, and then getting to watch how they react as they come to that realization? Rachel's facial expressions told me exactly when it hit her: Mom didn't come and wake me up. Wait...SNOWDAYI Now I can have Lindsay and Carli over for a cake decorating party. Poor mother.
Ah, yes. Being a fly on the wall is quite a life.