The Brawl


The Scene

Three kids, all blonde, varying heights, clearly in posession of shared DNA.  They are heading downstairs to play a game together with the largest of the three rallying his troops to action.

The Setting

A Basement.  Vibrant colors, pathetically filthy, scattered with disregarded toys and costumes.

The Protagonist

Lee-Kelli 10 (2)

The largest of the three blondes.  Male.  A smattering of freckles and deep blue eyes.  Sweet natured but easily frustrated.  Possesses a strong desire to be in control and a swift and thorough sense of justice.  A natural leader who inspires others to action when he’s not using his leadership for personal gain.  

 The Antagonist


 The middle blonde.  Female.  Dangerously cute.  Freakishly strong.  Possesses the rare trait of being able to push others to the very brink of their sanity then backing off as they self destruct.  Can widen her eyes abnormally giving her the appearance of a lost puppy and making her nearly irresistible.  Cannot say her ‘R,’ ‘TH,’ or ‘L’ sounds.  A master of psychological warfare.

The Tagalong

Lee-Kelli 10 (2)-3

The smallest of the three blondes.  Male.  Bright blue eyes.  A mischevious grin.  A natural born sidekick with the ability to alternate partners seamlessly throughout the course of an altercation, sometimes more than once.  Has a seemingly unbreakable love for the word “stupid” and the phrase “I hit your butt,” despite repeated admonishments.  Also unable to say the letters ‘R,’ ‘TH,’ or ‘L’ as he spends much time listening to, and mimicing, blonde number two.  A free spirit, The Tagalong is prone to fits of bouncing and can rarely focus on any one activity for more than 60 seconds at a time.

The Conflict

The Protagonist orders all blondes into the filthy basement for covert operations and a mad game of tag.  Naturally, The Protagonist  begins laying out rules and restrictions upon the game that directly violate The Antagonist’s awareness of what is fair.  In addition, The Antagonist has spent much of the afternoon being nice to The Protagonist and is simply in the mood to ruffle his feathers.

The Tagalong is just glad he was invited.

The Antagonist agrees to play the game as laid out by The Protagonist.  She waits until the opportune moment and then, mid-stride, stops, turns and declares, “I don’t wanna pway anymore.”  She throws a look at The Tagalong that lets him know he should take her side for a good time.  He quickly chimes in, “Yeah, I not pway anymore too.”

They wait.  But not long.  The Protagonist falls into a fit of frustrated rage.  He stomps.  He begs.  He pleads.  “Please play with me, guys.”  But they hold their ground.  It’s just too much fun to stop.  To really set The Protagonist over the edge, The Antagonist throws in, “We don’t wike to pway your games.”

The Protagonist responds, “Fine!  Then I don’t like either of you.  You’re not my friends!”  This is declared at the top of his lungs at a decible that reverberates off every window in the house.  The younger two blondes stomp upstairs indignantly.

“He’s mean,” they declare as they move to the couch, The Tagalong’s arms crossed over his chest in a mini protest.  Minutes later The Protagonist runs up the stairs.

In two leaps he lands on The Antagonist, digging his nails into her arm.  She lets loose a dramatic scream and brings forth a few tears for added effect.  Then the smaller, freakishly strong Antagonist flies at the larger blonde, her hand finding contact with his face with a crack.  Her finger somehow burys itself in his eye.

The Judge steps in, seperating the two brawlers.  The Tagalong looks on with wide eyes as The Protagonist is  taken to another room.

“Yeah!” The Tagalong says to The Antagonist.  “You dot him, Tia.  You beat ‘im up.  Ha. Ha.”  They give each other five.  The Judge’s wife stifles giggles.

The Resolution

The three blondes are sitting at the dinner table.  Little has been said about the earlier altercation until The Protagonist pipes up.  “Why did you poke my eye?” he asks, pure offense dripping from every word.

“Because you hit me and you was bossing me,” The Antagonist answers. 

“Yeah,” The Tagalong interjects.

“Don’t start again, guys,” The Judge says and shoots his dagger eyes in their direction.

“Hey!  I have an idea!” The Protagonist says, throwing his hands up in the air.

“What?!” The Tagalong asks, clearly excited.

“Let’s all be best friends.”

“Yeah!” The Antagonist and The Tagalong  reply in unison.

“Let’s all say it together,” The Protagonist says, relishing the fact that, once again, he is in full control.  “Ready?  One, Two Three…”


And they all lived happily ever after.

Or at least for the next few hours…

The End.


Kids Say the Darndest Things


Sloan: “Hey Mom!  What if I had a fire bootie?”

Me: “Um…what?”

S: “What if I had a fire bootie?  Then, if a dinosaur started chasing me, I could just toot and it would be like a rocket and I could get away.”

Me: *silence*  There’s really no way to respond to that.


Sloan: “Tia!  Stop copying me.”

Tia: “Stop copying me.”

S: “Tia, stooooop.

T: “Tia, stooooop.”

S: “Mom, Tia is copying me.”

T: “Mom, Tia is copying me.”

Me: “Tia please stop copying Sloan.  That bothers him.”

Tia: “Well I can’t help it.  My bwain tells me to copy and I can’t say no to my bwain.”

Me: “Well, you’re gonna have to learn to say no to your brain, honey, or you’re gonna have a lot of trouble in life.”

Sloan: “Yeah.  And some of that trouble will be with me.”

Someone tell me again…how long until school starts back up?


Me to Landon: “What’s your name?”

Landon: “Bubba.”

Me: “No, what’s your real name.”

Landon: “Uuuhhh…Hey you Bubba?”

I swear we don’t go around calling that child ‘Hey You.’  Just want to make that clear.


Tia: “Mom!  Sloan called me a wowyer.”

Me: “A what?”

Tia: “A wowyer.”

Me: “What’s a wowyer?”

Sloan: “A lawyer, mom.  I called her a lawyer.”

Me: “Oh.  That’s not a bad name, Tia.”

Tia: “Yuh-huh.  He said it mean and he said I’m a big, fat wowyer.”

Me: *sigh* “Sloan, don’t call your sister a lawyer, please.”


Tia: “Mom, I weawy, weawy, weawy wish I was a boy.”

Me: “Why?”

T: “So I can stand up to go potty and so I can carry guns.”

Me: “Well I can’t help you with the potty thing – that’s just how you were made.  But girls can carry guns just like boys.”

Tia: “They can?”

Me: “Sure.”

Tia: “Can I have a gun for my birfday?  A weal one?”

Me: “No.”

Tia: “But I fought you said girls tan carry guns?”

Me: “Pretend guns, honey.  Sloan doesn’t even have a real gun.”

Tia: “Yuh-huh.  He said he could shoot me dead wif it.”

Me: “Sloan!  Come here please.”