Trickery

Boys like to play tricks.

I know this because I have three older brothers and a husband. My coin phrase as a child was, “The brothers are teasing me!” They were never “my brothers” or anything like that… they were like a club -a band.

“The Brothers.”
And they teased. My Dad teased. My uncles teased.
It’s like a hereditary thing -something I’m trying to fight but I just. can’t.
“If you don’t raise your hands up when we drive over the cattle guards, the hairless monkey (with fangs!) will reach their claws up and grab onto the bottom of our car… then when we stop, they’ll crawl up the side and try to get at you through the windows…”
“Mom.” My daughter piped up, “Are you telling me some fiction?”

You mean… lying?
No, no. Never that. I’m just… teasing, darling.

At my Grandma’s on Sunday night, we spent a lot of time with our family. As we were leaving, my Dad came through the door. He scooped my daughter up.
“No, no! Not again!” She cried out, squirming in his arms.
“What?” My dad asked.
“I already got teased!”

And so there’s no escape. Despite the fact that I found myself on the receiving end of teasing throughout my childhood, I still find myself dishing it out. like maaaaad.
And my son.
My big-eyes son.

I’ll never forget the day when my crawling -CRAWLING -son picked up his toy hammer and knocked on our barn wood molding. It sounded just like a knock at the door, so I went and opened it.
No one was there.
Minutes later, I heard the knock again.
I went to the door.
No one was there.
And that’s when I heard it… laughter. From the boy. He was LAUGHING at me, holding his hammer up, and *knock knocking* it against the barn wood.
As a small infant, he sought out glee not through light-up toys but through holding up objects -offering them to others -and then snatching them away at the last minute.
He is a tease. And I love it.

I’ve been on the couch a lot lately. The doctor could tell my little one’s head has moved down, and boy.
Ouch.
I feel like there’s a bowling ball between my legs and I’m fighting to keep it steady. The best way to keep it steady, I’ve found, is to lie down and eat comfort food.
My son caught me on the couch one day. He buried himself under the blanket I had over me… covered his head…

A few moments later, his sister came bursting into the room.
“Where is he?” She asked, breathlessly.
“Who?” I focused my attention on my crocheting (because I have to be good for SOMETHING these days.)
“Trent!”
“Oh, I dunno,” I shrugged, moving my legs around to mask the fact that my son was wiggling with glee over his awesome hiding spot.
“I guess I can look in the bathroom…” she muttered as she walked out of the room.
“She’s gone,” I whispered.

“You tricked her!” I kept whispering, “She never saw you!”

Ah, trickery.
You’re hereditary.
You’re merciless.
You’re our favorite.