Coming home....sigh.....

Coming home from convention was very difficult for me. I was coming from spending such great time with my MOPS sisters (maybe a little too much fun...ahem...) and possibly walking into chaos. My mind had made up all kinds of visions. Big messes, wild boys straight out of the Lord of The Flies novel, starving children who lived off of Pop Tarts for 4 days, you get the idea. It was worse than I imagined. I walked in the door and heard video game sounds coming from the bedroom. But no kids voices (for those of you with boys, you know this is rare and very worrisome). I go into the bedroom and find all my menfolk; 3 boys and husband; captivated by Force Unleashed, the newest addition to our video game collection. So I step further in and say "Hello...I'm home". No response. So I wave my hand in front of their faces and say "Anyone miss Mom?". No response. Yup definitely worse than I thought. My family had "videogame zombieitis". A severe condition that is hard to treat without a mutiny as a result. So I move forward trying to not be noticed inching towards the game console. I stand in front of the console blocking the signal from the remote game controller. My husband's inability to fight the Storm Trooper bad guys causes a flurry of suggestions from the 3 boys with the 4 year old screaming "use your lightsaber Daddy!" My husband finally realizes what is wrong and instead of saying "Let's take a break, Mommy's home" he announces to the boys "Oh it's because Mommy wants me to stop playing so she's blocking the controller. I guess we HAVE to stop now". Yup worse than I thought. While I was gone, my family had been busy creating a Testosterone Utopia and now I had to be the bad guy and turn us back into a semi-functioning family. By being the "totally awesome dude" dad all weekend, my husband basically put a target on my back for bad attitude and tantrums because I had to restore discipline and order. Imagine if you will, a Preschool Mafia type problem. I got hugs and kisses and then the boys dutifully reported all of the cool things Dad did with them, including buying a movie that "we" decided not to buy for the boys. The thought of running back out to the street to see if Mandy B. was still on our street so I could flag her down and run away from home was passing through my head, but then the 4 year old jumped on me from the bed and said "I missed you Mamma" and I melted into a proverbial puddle of mush. As a ticklefest ensued I regained my feeling of elation at being home because while I would have a tough couple of days (ahem...weeks....) ahead, life can definitely be made better with tickling my boys with "The Armpit of Doom!!!!" (insert booming voice and giggling boy sounds here).