• distressedhousewife147@gmail.com

Zach Attack

Zach Attack

Distressed Housewife / January 4, 2013

(Cue music and a deep, dramatic male voice-over):

It’s just an ordinary day in an ordinary town.  A day like any other…that is, until a toddler awakes from his peaceful slumber.  He snuggles, he looks angelic, like butter wouldn’t melt in his cupid’s bow mouth, like mischief couldn’t possibly sparkle in his large, dewy, grey-blue eyes.

The adults around him are utterly taken in by this facade, blissfully unaware that they are playing right into his chubby little hands.

He is waging a fierce war on his parents at a time when he knows they are most vulnerable:  January, when they have given up alcohol for a month.

He begins his charm offensive: he giggles, he kisses everybody, he says, ‘Thash niiish!’ and those around him are fooled by it, so much so that they allow their attention to wander for a moment.  It is their first and biggest mistake and they will pay dearly for it.

He waits patiently and innocently until they look away, distracted by a noise, the television, another child…they look back but they are too late.  He has already started to wreak havoc of unbelievable proportions.

He leaves carnage and broken Lego in his wake and grown men and women sobbing uncontrollably, left too weak to unfurl themselves from the foetal position that is their natural defence mechanism.

He waits until a crucial moment in his brothers’ Skylanders’ game, turns off the plug at the switch…and watches with an unrepentant smile as they try to recover their lost positions and broken hearts.

He throws rooms into complete darkness and people are left to fend for themselves whilst he turns his attention elsewhere.  They stumble around blindly, groping their way around protruding pieces of furniture, in constant fear of breaking bones and stubbing toes…and he does it only by the swift clambering on a table and the deft flick of a switch.

He knows which buttons to press…especially those to start a new cycle on the empty washing machine; he can make a weapon with which to batter his brothers out of any toy or household item; he conceals keys and phones in super-secret hidey holes and avoids eye contact when questioned about their whereabouts.

He is obsessed by doors.  He opens them.  He closes them.  He opens them again.  He closes them again.  Over and over and over he repeats the process, until, on bended knee, his parents plead, ‘PLEASE STOP PLAYING WITH THE DOORS!’

He may pause for a moment as though to consider the request BUT BE WARNED: HE WILL NEVER STOP.  NOT UNTIL HELL FREEZES OVER (or he turns three).  He enjoys the power of being cute, mobile and nimble-fingered too much to ever relent.

The boy is good.  The best at what he does.  He has perfect selective hearing, he can find the toy that makes the most irritating noise imaginable and leave it turned up at full volume where only he can find it.  He can even poo on demand if the situation requires it.

He’s a pro.  He’s an award-winning screamer.  And he’s only two years old.






Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this:

@ 2017 Esol Theme powered by WordPress Developed by ASIATHEMES

%d bloggers like this: