Stepping through the door, when I get back from work, is characterized by a funny ritual; hide-and-seek that is not really hide-and-seek. The Little Woman is conspicuously absent from the welcoming committee and I think I know where she’s hiding. So I search.
The search itself is a charade because it is a small living room. There are only so many places a three-year-old can hide. But as I ‘search,’ asking pointlessly, “Where are you?” even as she giggles, unable to hold down the laughter welling in her chest, I can feel the stress of the day lifting.
I take long to get to the place she so poorly hidden herself, as little people are wont to do, thinking they are well out of sight, while the whole time, something about them; a small foot sticking out from under the bed or the mop of unruly hair distinctly holding them up like a beacon, is providing that come-on to the It (me) that’s doing the search.
Last night, I didn’t have to continue long with the search because, as I have learned, all I had to do was make the sound of ‘the munster, or monster in normal speak. I wonder where such ideas come from. But anyway, I made the sound of the munster and she collapsed in a heap of tinkling laughter.
And of course, she could not hold off the onslaught staged by her sister and me after that. We executed the attacked clinically, getting her from behind the door, where she had deposited herself. There was me, a whirlwind of hands tickling her to Kingdom Come and there was her sister joining in the fun. Being the smaller one, she learns most of what she knows from her big sis, so whenever one screamed, the other screamed even louder.
Hiding is a favourite pastime of most everyone in the family, it seems. Normally, the girls hide to play or to tinker with Mummy’s makeup. We usually realize what’s happening in such cases when suddenly, there’s no sound coming from there anymore. And on checking, the door is properly closed.
No matter where you hide your stuff, they know you’ll buckle under the pressure and you’ll bring it back. So, even if you have put your stuff in an upper drawer, chances are that tomorrow when you are pressed for time, you’ll use it and leave it on the table again, in plain sight of the Terrible Two.
Incidentally, I had to hide last week too. Sometimes, you just have to, what with two screaming munchkins who’ve just had their siesta. Over the weekend, I thought I had found the perfect place to hide. I shut the door to the bathroom and nothing would make me budge. For all intents and purposes, I was on the throne and was not to be disturbed.
The best laid plans often go awry, as it has been said. Try relaxing at the throne with two little girls banging the door.