Eighty

I love the title of Robert Fulghum's book It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It... It just begs for more information doesn't it? Except sometimes I don't really want to know the details. It is better and easier to not know what "it" was or why on earth one would lie down on "it" when it was on fire.
Tonight was that sort of night with our kids. They made a pact to all hide their gameboys. (We confiscate them so the kids can focus on school during the week. We're big on book larnin'.) They hoped to play video games during the week by simply not being able to find the players when we asked for them. Except that somebody left open bread, cereal, and other food packages in a trashed-out kitchen... and someone turned the heater up to eighty. Soooo.
We arrived home to discover the house was a tropical paradise that will show up on a future energy bill. Our children were griping because they were hot. The kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off. Food packages were wide open and there were some haphazard spills. Don was not happy.
Evan was thoroughly ticked off because Erin ratted him out immediately over the gameboy plot. (His sisters rat him out fast when they think there might be slight advantage to be gained. You'd think he would learn.) Evan felt that he should not be in trouble because he didn't succeed in pulling off the gameboy caper. (Riiiight.)
Don was hot, and getting hotter by the moment, and he pretty much told all the kids to get into bed. They opted to "explain" instead. (My Daddy used to say on occasions like this, "Either you're stupid, or you think I am." He has a way with words that just gets right to the point.) There was yelling.
I stood in the hallway between the bedrooms wondering if dousing the children with Calgon would take them away. I calmly said to those children, "I am very disappointed." I held up my hand to silence their attempts at further explanations. Shutting off their bedroom lights, I began backing out of the hallway shaking my head in wonder that they could possibly have continued to think they would be able to talk their way out of the mess they created. It's always easier to be the parent who deals with the aftermath rather than the immediacy of "You did what?!"
Don was standing in the kitchen completing the clean-up. He headed back to the bedroom to stare at the t.v for a while. I think he will be okay since none of his blood vessels seems to have burst. The children have wisely opted to go straight to sleep tonight. I suspect any contrition they feel will have evaporated overnight.