Liam and Nate are eating lunch at the cute, little-person-sized table and chairs set they inherited from their cousin, Alec. They have more freedom with this set up than when we strap them into their booster chairs at the big table, and more freedom means more delicious opportunity to stab your brother in the eye or finger paint the glass storm door with ranch dressing.

I head for the laundry room to get a load of clothes started while the boys pound chicken tenders and FLAVOR BLASTED Goldfish Crackers. (I swear I wash clothes I’ve never even seen before. I’m convinced our dirty clothes perform an obscene mating ritual each night, spawning sticky, juice-stained shirts and pee-pee soaked pants by morning.) I don’t even make it to the hamper before all hell breaks loose at the cute table. This version of Hell is punctuated by high pitched squealing and insane jabbering fueled by so much urgency, emotion, and volume that their words turn to jibberish as they leave their mouths. They grit their teeth and bulge their eyes at one another while shuddering their heads side to side to emphasize that they are not! fucking! around!

I’m finally able to figure out that Nate has commandeered all four of the highly coveted Little Einsteins figures, leaving Liam Steinless. Nate totally has the hots for June, the dancing brunette of the Einsteins team, and rarely lets her out of his sight. So, no way is he going to hand her over to Liam. Eventually, I persuade (force) him to share and he disdainfully chucks two of the remaining non-June figures at his brother. They cartwheel off of the table and onto the floor. Nate flips Liam off and spits in his juice as Liam scampers after his prizes.

Lunch resumes and I make attempt #2 at the laundry. After five blissful minutes of no refereeing, I realize that it is peaceful at the cute table. Oddly peaceful. Dangerously peaceful. I think that I hear nothing over the slosh of the washing machine, but then I listen more closely. Evil, evil giggling with with an undercurrent of muttering Liam. I slip back around the corner and hear the mutterer gleefully commanding Nate to “Eat it! Eat it!”

One of them has found a black crayon…now half of a black crayon…in a dusty corner of the kitchen. Liam has been productive in his unsupervised minutes, pulling Nate’s marionette strings and making him dance…eat a crayon, rather…because he can. Nate’s beaming face is haphazardly covered in swirls of black (washable!) crayon, like a Wooly Willy picture created by an epileptic artist.

“Open up,” I say. “Let Mum-Mum see your teeth.” He looks like he’s been on an Oreo bender. His molars and the spaces between his teeth are packed with shiny black wax. I clean him up and dispense a too-little-too-late reprimand and time-outs to both. Parenting after the fact. Perfect.

Lunch is cold, but I tell them to finish up so I can hustle them upstairs for their awesome, AWESOME naps. I clean up the kitchen while they ignore their food and drain their juice cups. Without warning or provocation, Liam fixes his eyes on Nate and proceeds to go completely insane. He does that Pentecostal screaming thing again and I can’t make out anything he’s saying. “NAEEEEHAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!” I squat down at the table, convince him to turn the volume down a click, and can finally understand him. And when I say ‘understand,’ I mean in its most basic application.

“NO NATE HAVE EARS!!!!”

He is deadly serious and suddenly furious at the existence of his brother’s ears. He covers his own ears and glares at Nate while he screams his complaint to me. “What??”

“NOOO NAAATE HAAAAAVE EEEARSSS!”

I can’t help it. I have to hear it again. “What did you say, Bean?” I fake the concern that I’m sure he thinks this problem deserves, fixing my expression into one of seriousness and sincerity.

“NO! NATE! HAVE! EEEAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRSSSSSSS!!!”

Nate sits quietly, looking bewildered, as his little-brother-ears taunt Liam in some inexplicable way. I laugh. Hard. I have absolutely no answer for this. The boys laugh with (at?) me and I wonder if they think I’m as crazy as I know they are.