There are few things more intimidating than a charging rhino—except maybe a naked, wet charging rhino that is fresh from the shower. But I have an explanation, really and truly I do.
Here’s how it all went down. I’m home by myself with the two 5-year-olds, and unless I want to accumulate an unholy bodily stench over the duration of the week, I eventually need to find times that are conducive to bathing. That’s not always easy with two curious and busy and crazy and insane boys, but I do what I can. So in this particular instance, I occupied Jordan with the television in the boys’ bedroom. He was watching Dora or something equally as entertaining and borderline educational. (That is how I justify it. Do not judge.) Jadon was downstairs being a nerd with the ipad. Sood he will become a computer programmer and wear a pocket protector, but for now I will shield him from that by allowing him to download such things as Angry Birds.
So the sitch was normal. Every thing was status quo. I was set to take the shortest shower in the history of mankind. I quickly verified that the boys were not lighting the house on fire, and I made a run for it. And the plan was flawless—until I got out of the shower. About the time I had wrapped the swami towel around my hair and had prepared to dry the rest of myself off, I heard the most awful, gut-wrenching scream from downstairs.
I quickly raced into action, knowing in my instinctive heart of hearts that a while boar or zombie or bear was surely eating my child alive. I could tell by the severity and length of the scream. Having no time to worry about such things as modesty or the fact that my children were about to be traumatized for the next several decades, I barreled forward from the safety of my bathroom, towel on my head, water flying behind me.
I raced down the stairs, screaming, “Jadon! Jadon! Are you ok?!” As I stood there in all of my dripping-wet and panicked nakedness, my 5-year-old looked up at me with astonished eyes from his perch on the sofa.
He slowly and sort of post-traumatic-stress-syndrome-like replied, “Um, yeah, I failed my Angry Birds level. Why you naked, Mama?”
Aw, shit. Well, at least he knows I have the reflexes of a charging rhino when I feel that one of my kids is threatened. As for the damned makers of Angry Birds, I have a few choice words for them. Apparently, Jadon is going to show his frustration vocally when he is unable to clear a level.
Also apparently, we are going to have thousands of dollars of therapy bills to pay. Because the site of your naked, wet mother charging through the house with a towel on her head is not one that is soon forgotten.