Rules of Da House

“…and not murder each other.”

With that I felt confident that I could step away from the house for five minutes to go get a package at the office.  Why am I getting a package at the office instead of at my doorstep, because the University likes to micromanage everything.  If they could legally open packages and mail I am sure that they would.  Chalk up package delivery as another knock against this college.  Still I had to go, there was a lot of snow on the ground, and I feel that the time is right for the kids to learn small doses of responsibility such as being left alone for a few minutes, no adult in the house.  Yes, you may think what you want but I would not even attempt if I felt that my life lessons were inadequate.

Before I left I made sure that I had both of their attentions.  Which meant I stood in front of the television, to which they responded by leaning left and right to move around me, so I danced in front of the television just to see if they would move to try to maintain line of sight with the television.  They did.  Then I turned off the television.

“You are in charge,” I said pointing at my boy.

“Why not me?” asked his sister.

“Your age.”

“Oh.”

“What are the rules of the house?” I asked.

There are only a few rules that they have to recite to me, but I was curious what I would get back.

“Don’t answer the door no matter what,” my boy says.

“No fires,” says my girl.

“Do not put the chain on the door,” my boy says.

Why don’t they put the chain on the door, because from the outside I cannot unlock the chain and they are not the most responsive of people when the television is on and the last thing I want is another repeat of the chain being on the door, me needing to get inside in an hurry, Barb upstairs “busy,” and the kids watching the door open, the chain go taunt, and doing nothing.  In other words I did want to take a chance that I might have to pee and be stuck outside while they watched me.

“If you don’t like the music change the channel,” my girl says, “unless dad likes the song.”

“Do not get finger prints on the CDs,” my boy says.

This is in reference to changing games on the Xbox.  This is not as important as some of the above.

“What else?” I ask finishing putting on my coat and tying my boots.

My boy’s finger goes to his chin, he is thinking.  My girl’s eye brows shoot up to the top of her head, she is surprised and thinking an odd combination to be sure, but the combination works for her.

“I know there is one more,” my boy says his finger going faster, “but I don’t remember.”

I don’t remember is fine with me, better to admit you don’t know, than to try and fake knowing.

“…and don’t murder each other,” my girl says right on the end of his sentence.

“Very good.  I will be back in a few minutes.”

A few minutes later and all is where it should be.

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