Pterodactyl with a Megaphone

In many ways, today was like any other. We read a little Richard Scarry, watched some “Baby Caillou” (as "Boss" calls it,) tripped over toys, cursed at said toys (under my breath at least), threw a ball at "Stinker's" head (Boss), got a time-out on the couch (Boss), scared the cats with high-pitched giggles (Boss), and inspected soiled diapers (also Boss).

In some ways, today was also different. Before 10 am, we had two power outages—one in the wee hours of the night with Boss waking up screaming in a pitch-black room, and one just after he awoke in the morning. Not a big deal, since the house stayed warm and both events lasted less than 2 hours. During the morning outage, we focused on toys, books and breakfast, and we survived pretty well … except for the pterodactyl, that is—a very loud pterodactyl with a megaphone. Turns out that Stinker decided now would be a fun time to practice his piercing screams that resemble a bird of prey about to swoop down on a pack of fat rodents. Granted, I wasn't in a library or in a restaurant, so what's the big whoop? I'll tell you what the big whoop is: I have trouble with noise. I am a bionic woman reject—I didn't get speed, or silky blond locks or fingernails that cut glass; I got an overachieving ear that hears all noises great and small.

So when Stinker SHRIEKED again and again for no reason but to hear himself, I … well … I blew on his face. He stopped, but it didn't feel quite right; plus, he only stopped for two seconds before continuing. So I ran across the room and grabbed the best $1.29 investment I've ever made. Ah, yes, my ear plugs. My sweet, squeezable, accommodating, noise-blocking ear plugs! I shoved them like I was mashing gum on a leaking pipe, and, like magic, the shrill squawks were muffled. And wouldn't you know, Stinker soon stopped his manic bird impressions. He was no longer getting the rise out of me he once was. Score one for momster! … And score 1,000 for those glorious wedges of orange foam.