Miss Fix-It

“Okay,” I said slowly, going to the TV guide and finding the ‘Kids’ section. “What are we watching?”

“Sofia!” Ellie shouted.

“No, Twansformers!” Eli yelled at her.

“No, Sofia!”

“No, Twansformers!”

Help. Someone help.

“Well, you can’t both watch different shows,” I talked over them. “You have sixty seconds to agree on a show I’ll read out to you before I make a choice for you. Deal?”

They both grumbled about it.

“Okay. There is Sofia the First, Peppa Pig, Calliou—”

“We’re not awowed to watch Cawiou,” Eli said softly. “Daddy said he’s naughty.”

Ellie nodded enthusiastically. “Daddy said Cawiou is a little shit.”

I froze.

Did she just—

I choked back a mixture of shock and laugh. “Well, Daddy is very naughty, too. That’s a bad word, Ellie, and you shouldn’t repeat that.”

“It is?”

“Yes. It’s only for grown-ups.”

“Can I say it when I’m firteen?”

“You can say it when you touch the ceiling without climbing on furniture or going on your tippy-toes,” I said to her.

Eli looked at me and then the ceiling. “Can you touch the seewing, Kawi?”

Hey. He wasn’t whispering!

I glanced upward. “Uh, I don’t know.”

“Twy!” They both said, clapping their hands three times in unison.

I hesitated, but the expectant way they both grinned at me broke me down. “Okay. I’ll try.” I reached up as far as I could, stretching right out, but my fingers came an inch or two short of the ceiling.

Damn it.

“You’re not awowed to say the naughty words!” Ellie exclaimed, climbing up onto the sofa and getting a closer look at the gap between my fingertips and the ceiling.

“You’re too small,” Eli said. “You gotta grow some more.”

I was screwed, then.

“Looks like it,” I agreed. “How about the TV? No to Calliou. There’s Spongebob Squarepants—” Hey, a show I knew! “—Or…Paw Patrol.”

“Paw Patrol!” they shouted, scrambling to sit together on the sofa. “Paw Patrol!”

Thank God.

I hit that channel, and when an incredibly annoying theme tune filled the air, I left the room, taking the controller with me.

I wasn’t going to cope with anymore fighting. Not this soon into my babysitting session. Nope.

The ground beef on the base of the pan had burned slightly. No wonder—their fighting had overridden my ability to make the choice to turn the damn heat down before I’d gone in there.

With a sigh, I scraped the burned meat the best I could and drained it all of oil over the sink. I threw the jar of sauce into the pan, then replaced the meat, and stirred.

The spaghetti bubbled over, so I turned it down so it didn’t splash everywhere. There was still silence in the front room which was both welcomed and slightly worrying. I dashed quickly to peek.

They were cuddled together, Eli sucking his thumb as they watched.

I knew Brantley didn’t really like him sucking his thumb, but I was picking my battles, and this was not one of the ones I wanted to fight.

I just wanted to feed them.

If I could do that without another argument between them, I’d be okay.

Right?

Right.

I stirred the Bolognese mix. It smelled good, and I mentally patted myself on the back.

Until there was a scream from the front room.

I dropped the spoon, splattering sauce everywhere, including on myself, and ran.

Ellie and Eli were pushing and shoving at each other, and he had hold of a fistful of Ellie’s hair.

“Hey! Whoa! No!” I rushed to them and removed Eli’s clawed hand from Ellie’s hair. “What’s that all about?”

“He pinched me!” Ellie shouted at the same time Eli said, “She hit me!”

I covered my face with my hands. “Okay, come into the kitchen. Opposite ends of the table. Your dinner is done.”

“But I wanna watch Paw Patrol,” Ellie whined.

“Nope. We tried that, but you fought. Kitchen for dinner, please.”

They both sloped off the sofa and sulked their way to the table. They did as they were told, taking their seats at the opposite ends of the sofa. I blew out a long breath and searched for their plates.

“Next to the fwidge,” Ellie said.

“Huh?”

“Our pwates.” She smiled.

“Oh, thanks.” I crossed the kitchen for the plates and pulled two out.

Minutes later, they were both eating silently, slurping spaghetti up. The sauce went everywhere except in their mouths. Over their cheeks, on their noses, down their necks…Right down their shirts.

“Good?” I asked.

They both turned, grinning at me with half-orange faces.

It was like Willy Wonka had let his Oompaloompas free in Rock Bay.

Ellie even managed to get it in her hair.

Oh, dear.

They were going to need a bath.

***

In hindsight, what I should have done was cleaned them up with a wet cloth and waited until Brantley got home from work.

In hindsight, I was a fucking idiot.

I was a fucking soaking wet idiot, to be precise.

Who knew that saying, “Please stop splashing!” meant, “Hey, splash some more!”

Not me. Nobody ever told me that.

Even reverse psychology didn’t work. I pretended I didn’t care they splashed more, and so they splashed more.