or…the OTA, as they refer to it. Yes, I am aware it sounds like a terrorist organization, and is similar, both in style and motive.
The boys have turned their newly completed treehouse into a military bunker.
They have papered the walls with Lego posters and maps. Turned down, vehemently, my suggestion for lace curtains. Spent all day Saturday discussing and deciding on the official rules for their Club, with the position of “Supreme Commander” changing hands among them, every Saturday. Medals (bottle caps) and certificates (drawn and illustrated by Caleb) are given out for acts of courage and removed for “insubordination”.
Lee and Claudia came home from vacation yesterday, so over dinner the children were telling their grandparents all about the O.T.A., and when I asked
“So, are women allowed in this Army?”
Sam’s response was
“Sure! The Nerf darts aren’t going to put themselves away.
Which didn’t exactly make me want to sign up for military duty. I pick up enough stuff, without risking my life in battle, to boot.
Grandma, however, is more easily swayed. She was informed that a warm pan of brownies could quite possibly bribe the General, and earn her “a lifetime membership” in the O.T.A.
Now I have a clear understanding of terrorists, having lived among them since 1995. I tend to follow in George W.’s footsteps-if you make them brownies today? You’ll be in that kitchen every week, baking larger and larger pans of chewy brown offerings, desperately trying to keep the peace. Staving off bloodshed with only flour power and your stained potholders.
Sweet Grandma doesn’t realize such dangers, swayed as she is by tan, lanky grandsons, grinning at her innocently across the dinner table. She played right into their scheming grubby hands and the O.T.A. has won their first battle.
Without a single shot fired.