Boys are busy in the living room with their little kid sized chairs pulled up to the distressed coffee table, eating pizza and drinking milk, and watching [
Daddy has come home from work. He and Manic Mommy are sitting in the kitchen eating their own pizza having actual adult/how-was-your-day-dear-?-type conversation, ignoring the rapidly escalting lawlessness taking place two rooms away. The chaos spills into the kitchen, where MM notices that RC's shirt is splattered with liquid as if he had run through the sprinklers on a summer day.
MM: RC, what's on your shirt?
HRH (needing to be in the middle of it): We were playing 'spray' with our Diego cups and I won!
MM gives Daddy the 'you're fresh, you deal with this one' look.
Daddy: HRH, you know that's not how big boys behave. (More 'bad idea'-type words that, honesty, MM just can't remember.) Please go up to your room for a few minutes and think about that.
RC follows HRH to time out. Adult conversation continues for a few minutes until the children are summoned back downstairs.
Daddy: HRH, I want to talk to you about what you did and why it's wrong. Look at me. Look at me! Stop dancing. Don't touch that. Stand up. Grasps him by shoulders in fruitless bid for eye contact, shortens speech considerably, ending with: And I think you owe me an apology for not listening while I was talking.
HRH: Okay, Daddy. Sorry, RC.
RC: You're welcome.
Exit, stage left.