Miss Crankypants loves her grands. Truly. Yet when one of them, of the two-year-old persuasion descends upon her house, it’s like the plague of locusts, the mall on Christmas Eve and Godzilla vs. Mothra all rolled into one. She can’t run that fast!
Cranky Cat, Melchior the Very Large and Mama Mia! are as upset as Miss CP. For weeks, when the boy they lovingly refer to as KIDZILLA arrives, it’s to the under-the-bed office with all household members who say MEOW! They understand he’s only a boy, but unlike Miss Crankypants, the cats are not willing to stick around and read Green Eggs and Ham for the 47th time.
Mr. B (stands for Bolt of Lightning) is a good kid. Let’s not mince words about that. As one of my esteemed colleagues likes to say, “He’s a granDORABLE!” Except when he’s throwing a fit, throwing food or THROWING A FIT. Then Miss Cranky is tempted to follow the advice of Mark Twain: When you have children, put them in a pickle barrel with a hole in one side so you can feed them. When they get to be teenagers, plug up the hole.
Of course this advice sounds absolutely BARBARIC for the 21st century. The least we could do is use a more modern container, say, like a plastic bubble. Or maybe KIDZILLA could hitch a ride on the next spaceship to Mars. What? Treat this precious child as if he were a space monkey? That’s not appropriate.
Unless he’s trying to jump off the roof again. Or flatten the Empire State Building or set the Capitol on fire with his fire-breathing. No, Miss Crankypants will not be needing a pickle barrel. A corral, maybe. Quite possibly the sort of restraints put on Hannibal Lecter. But something tells Miss CP that none of these things is going to work. The best approach for taming Terrible Two KIDZILLA is obvious: Read GREEN EGGS AND HAM a few dozen more times. Cranky Cat and his pals are sure to come out from under the bed.
