Some have heard the story of a
monster boy who does not speak but laughs as he, in his naked form, sneaks around houses covered from head to toe in flour covering all the land he encounters forever in white leaving all 30 year old women in tears and anguish.
However that is not how the true story unfolded. Come and stay and let me tell you the true tale. A tale of the unhinged desires of a child who only wanted one more marshmallow, but whose evil mother said "NAY!".
It all started on a Tuesday morning. I had already had my morning coffee and the children had been fed. I was upstairs indulging in my sin of computer browsing, this particular morning I was browsing for new spectacles. In the same room the younger child was bouncing on the bed while watching Toy Story 2, also known as the worst of the three Toy Story films. The older boy was downstairs. I assumed at the time that he was still engrossed in watching the videos on his tablet as he was before. It was a great time. A quiet and peaceful time that ended all too soon. The older boy eventually came upstairs and joined the younger child while watching Toy Story 2. My stomach growled and demanded to be fed, so I took my belongings (phone and empty cup) and ventured to the kitchen where I hoped to fill my belly with rainbows and sunshine. Instead I came upon a crime scene. The kitchen, dining room and family room were covered in a white powdery substance that I assumed was flour.
"The boy" I mutter under my breath as I clenched my fists in anger. I had been through this type of scene many times before and my first instinct was to numb my emotions and breath deeply. First, I went for my phone and recorded the whole disaster. I then looked at the time, it was 9:00am, and began to get to work. First I vacuumed and as I pushed and pulled and maneuvered the giant vacuum across the beautiful wood floors I found the bag of flou- WAIT! It wasn't flour. I picked up the empty bag that read "Powdered Sugar" and the story suddenly became all too clear to me.
A few hours earlier while I was just waking up, the husband and the boy were already awake and downstairs lounging. When I joined them, the husband noticed that Milo had found and obtained a marshmallow. I clucked my tongue once in annoyance as I lunged for the drawer that hid the marshmallows, and found them opened with one marshmallow short, not even noticing the bag of powdered sugar that lay gently next to it. I grabbed the marshmallow bag and flung it into a new hiding spot, not realizing at the time what that one act would do for my future.
As I finished the vacuuming and started sweeping I thought of the boys grief over not having anymore marshmallows. What was he feeling at that time? Rage? Sadness? Panic? Maybe all of those feelings and more. As I finished sweeping and began wiping the counters and couches and tables and chairs, I thought of the boy feverishly searching for the marshmallow that had once brought him so much joy, how not being able to find the bag of marshmallows must have brought him so much anger and frustration. Perhaps his thoughts went to revenge as he picked up the bag of powdered sugar?... or maybe he could smell that sweet scent that had reminded him of his one true love? Who knows, but one thing is for sure: When he opened the bag and tasted the sugar spreading across his tongue he lost all reason, consumed by his desires he went MAD! He couldn't get to the sugar quick enough! He reached in the bag, but it was only large enough for a few fingers! He ripped and tore and finally was able to pierce through the hole to the bag with his entire fist. What happened afterward... I don't entirely know, but the end result was... sticky.
Two hours passed and I finished mopping the floors for the third time, sweat pouring down my brow and onto the much less sticky floor. My lower back groaned and my joints complained, reminding me that I need to work out more and that I'm getting old. I shook my fist and yelled "Curse you!!!" to the moment I had just endured. I put away the cleaning tools and made my way upstairs to the children. The younger child was singing to himself on the bed, the older one chromecasting a new video on the TV, he heard my entrance and looked me straight in the eye. I gazed into those dark, cold, dead eyes that looked so much like my own. They seemed to be asking me "Was it worth it Mother? Was all that work worth not giving me one marshmallow?" I thought back to the two hours I had spent vacuuming and sweeping the floors, the way my hand ached from squeezing the cleaning bottle over and over, the way I was forced to scrub the mop that much harder into the floors to get rid of the white flakes that had made a home in the cracks, I thought of the untouched white powder that was still out there now... when will I notice it? Today? Tomorrow? "Nay" I replied in my mind "...it wasn't worth a moment of that horror".
So at lunch when Milo handed me his plate asking for more nutella sandwich bites... I succumbed instantly.