Fellow Queens,

 

My middle child is officially cool.

 

This past Saturday night our house was papered, but good.  

 

Sunday morning as I got ready for church I happened to look out our bathroom window. From the second floor I saw strands of Charmin gently blowing from the trees. Nice. 

 

I should have expected it. I heard our house phone ring around 11:30 the night before.  When I checked the message I heard a chorus of giggly girl who didn’t say anything and then hung up. 

 

My son has an idea of who the perpatrators were. I imagine we will have to retaliate and I will have to employ my Mom Rules of TPing.

 

A few years ago a girl thought my oldest was continually papering her house. Every time she saw him the accusations flowed. Finally I just said, “Tim, tell Maddie that when you paper her house, she will know it was you.” The plan was set in motion, but first he had to know my rules.

 

#1  I will not buy the toilet paper. All involved have to save their pennies for that.

#2  Any accomplices must inform their parents as to what is going down.

#3  All involved will show up at the victims house the next morning at 8 am brandishing a box of           doughnuts and clean it all up.

 

Yes, I am the meanest mommy in the world.

 

After all the rules were agreed to we started our quest. It was off to Sam’s Club to pick up the toilet paper. My kid picked up a mere 52 rolls of TP. 52 ROLLS! DOUBLE rolls I may add.  That night the little criminals assembled at our house all wearing the required dark clothing.  We headed off to the target and parked a few blocks away.  We crept up to the house, weapons at the ready and let it fly.  At one point a note declaring, “This time Maddie, it was me!” was pinned to the front door. When we were close to being finished I ran back to the minivan, pulled up to the house with the sliding door open yelling, “Let’s go, go go!” They threw themselves into the car like it was the last airlift out of a war torn country and we peeled out.

 

Laughing all the way, we wandered through the hood, killing time before we circled back to admire our handiwork.  When we approached the house we were shocked to find Maddie’s dad cleaning up! What? This wasn’t the plan! Crud! As the boys ducked down, I leaned out of the car saying, “Oops, sorry Greg, just leave it. We will be back in the morning to clean it up.” He mumbled something, probably cursing me and my offspring. 

 

The next morning the boys showed up with the doughnuts and removed the straggling TP while Maddie and I chuckled in the kitchen. Out comes Greg. “Hi Greg,” I sheepishly said. “How ya doing?” He grunted back, “I’d be better if I hadn’t heard your voice waking me up two times in a row.” 

 

I swear he still hates me.

 

We haven’t papered anyone else since that ill-fated mission but I guess I’ll be asked soon.  If you haven’t had this rite of passage with your sons you can get some pointers here. And just remember this factoid I learned:  There are more than 340 homeowners each year that shoot the TPers with shotguns.(45 each year result in at least 1 persons death)

YIKES!

 

Reign On!

Queen Linda