Confidential Informants

A scant week later Paul jetted between the stove, where he attempted to cook supper, and the living room, where he supervised Dale and Johnny's homework. The boys had proved less than cooperative and slid from their seats to wander to the window, or up the stairs, if Paul failed to police them.

"Hey," he barked surveying the living room for the thousandth time. "Dale and Johnny, get right back over here and finish those assignments this minute. I'm not telling you again."

Dale regarded him from across the room where he lay on his back, lazily swinging his legs in the air and drumming a melody with his fingers on the floor. "I'm almost finished with my science," he offered as reassurance.

"Then get over here and finish."

"But the…"

"Now!" Paul scanned the area again. "Where's your brother?"

"Which one?"

"Johnny."

"Bathroom," Dale supplied. "I think."

Paul returned to the kitchen to stir the potatoes boiling on the stove. All four of the kids loved potatoes, especially sweet potatoes, so they showed up on the family's table regularly. Supper had very little prep left to it. The chicken had roasted and he cut off the oven but left the dish inside to keep warm.

The only food he lacked came from the vegetable category.

As he confronted the refrigerator Paul muttered personal observations describing how very taxing raising children was as opposed to fighting hard core criminals on a daily basis. Digging through the contents of the freezer he finally located some frozen butterbeans, ripped open the package, and threw them into a pot.

A wounded Mike appeared in the doorway, his right hand cradled in his left. "Paige bit my finger," he explained pitifully.

Paul narrowed his eyes. "What? Paige did what?"

"She bit me right there." Mike indicated the tip of his index finger.

"Why?"

"I don't know," Mike frowned.

Paul stirred the butterbeans. "Why?"

"Cause she said for me to stop putting my finger on her mouth." Mike scowled at the unpleasant memory.

Paul sighed. "Paige is wrong for biting you but you are equally wrong for putting your hands on her."

"Not my hands, Daddy, my finger."

"Doesn't matter. Don't touch her again."

Mike scowled and looked towards the door. "When is Mommy coming home?"

"Not soon enough to give you a different response. Now are you sure you finished your homework?" The school the boys attended assigned homework for all students 2-3 times per week. Kindergartners were not exempt.

"No."

"I thought you told me you had." Paul looked exasperated. Some genetic mutation had evidently rendered all three of his sons incapable of correctly communicating the status of homework. "What do you have left?"

Mike hopped from one foot to the other. "Blue." To reinforce colors, Ms. Holt would assign a single color as the kindergarten homework focus. The children would trace the name of the color at the top of a handout, then draw a picture demonstrating that color.

"Sit down and do that."

"I want Mommy to help me."

"Mommy's not here."

"I want Mommy to watch me make a smurf." Mike's eyes lit. "A blue smurf, 'cause blue's the color."

"Daddy will have to do." Paul used the slotted cooking spoon to indicate the living room. "Go."

"What about my finger?"

"I just told you not to put your finger in her face, ok?"

"Aren't you going to kiss it?"

Paul put the spoon down onto the counter and motioned Mike to him. He held the small hand and kissed the wound. "How's that?"

Mike cut his eyes towards the door as though his wish could force his mother to appear. "I like when Mommy kisses it better."

"Believe me, I am praying she returns soon just as much as you are."

Resigned, Mike pivoted and resumed his place in the living room.

Mere seconds later a crash galvanized Paul and he confronted the living room scene with growing frustration. The second he appeared in the doorway Johnny and Dale both slipped their hands behind their backs, covertly signaling their exhausted father that their hands had indeed done something their hands should not have done. Paul followed the direction of their united gaze and deduced his eldest had tossed one of Paige's beanbag toys and upset a vase in the foyer.

Miraculously, it had not broken or shattered into smithereens.

He crossed his arms and snapped, "My patience just ran out with you two. Get that vase picked up now, and if you throw anything else in here I will skip any timeouts and go directly to delivering a spanking."

The boys exchanged worried glances.

Johnny ventured, "When is Mommy coming home?"

"Not soon enough. Now do what I just told you and get that vase fixed, then bring your homework into the kitchen. Since I couldn't trust you to function independently you're going to sit right in front of me and finish. You too, Mikey."

Mike looked stricken. "Daddy, I didn't throw it! I promise."

"Wait," Paul ordered. "Where's your sister?"

Johnny jogged to the couch and motioned for Paul to look behind it. There Paige lay, curled up and fast asleep on top of a small area rug.

Paul groaned in frustration. A nap this late in the day meant Paige would not be able to sleep at her normal bedtime. That translated to a seriously long and complicated night.

Paul had experienced nights like those and always hoped to avoid them in the future. Today he had failed.

He hurriedly woke her and stayed until she actually stood and stretched before pointing the boys towards the kitchen.

Paul followed with Paige in tow.

Once Paul had thrown out the s word, the threat of a spanking, the boys injected more visible effort into tackling their homework.

Dale announced he had finished a few minutes later, so Paul directed him to set the table and use Paige as his helper.

Johnny left his pencil and paper on the floor and wandered to the counter to watch Paul julienne carrots. "That's not the way Mommy does that," the six year old observer noted.

Paul inhaled a calming breath. "Did you finish, JohnBoy?"

"All except my words."

"Put your word list right here so I can see it and then you can say them to me." The school required even first graders to practice vocabulary skills.

"Why can't Mommy listen to my words instead?"

"Is she here?" Paul asked rhetorically. "I'm your only choice so you have to deal with me."

Johnny's expression transformed to genuine disappointment. "Well, will she come home soon?"

"I sincerely hope so," Paul assured him. "Now, I'm waiting on you, though."

When Charlie finally made her entrance all of the children greeted her with so much affection and excitement that she leveled a suspicious gaze on her husband.

Drawing the words out, she hissed, "What did you do to them?"

Paul kissed her and whispered, "Woman, you need to resume your station and manage us. Words can not express the gratitude I feel that you have finally returned to accept responsibility for your offspring."

Charlie whispered back, "Appreciate me now, don't you?" She pinched his arm.

"Owww! Why did you pinch me?"

"Your Neanderthal approach," she smirked, eyeing him sideways. She clapped her hands. "All right babies, let's eat."

"Daddy didn't even give us a snack," Paige reported sadly.

Charlie turned to Paul in surprise. He returned her gaze guiltily and mouthed he was sorry.

"It's quite all right," she smiled. "Once your tummies are full you can take nice baths and I believe you'll get to watch some television tonight."

"What about homework?" Johnny attempted to clarify. "Can we finish all of our homework while we watch the television show?"

"Please?" Dale added.

"Your homework's not finished?" Charlie regarded Paul questioningly. "Paul?"

"I supervised," he defended himself. "They claimed they needed you for the majority of it."

She pursed her lips and tried to recalculate. "Oh, ok, ok. Then- well how much is left to do?"

The children hastened to enlighten her.

Mike waved his hand. "You have to see me make a blue smurf, Mommy. My color's blue."

"I need to finish science," Dale added. "The moon and the planets…"

Johnny spoke with a decided tattletale quality to the tone, "I 'plained to Daddy that I needed to finish my vocabulary words but he just wouldn't listen."

Charlie scanned their faces. "Okay, let's go. Since you boys transformed yourselves into my confidential informants, Daddy and Paige can clean up tonight while you finish your work right here at the table with me. Go get your assignments, please."

Paul raised his eyebrows and pretended to be wounded.

Charlie shrugged her shoulders. "Forgiven this time. Next time I won't be so loving, Agent Briggs."