Three Days

     It's been three days. Three days that Ian's been home from school. The first day was alright. He was cooperative and happy to stay home. A little wild towards the end, but otherwise okay. Tuesday morning started out well. By afternoon though, boredom set in and he attempted to alleviate it by torturing Christeal.
     First, he pointed a Nerf shotgun at her, pretending to blow her away. She did not like this and voiced her dislike in a high-pitched screech. I would tell Ian to knock it off, and then, with the sweetness and venom of a beehive, he'd say, "Christeal? Do you want to play in my room?"
     Falling for his friendship she replied, "Yes," and toddled after him to the torture chamber. He waited for her to go in first, like a true gentleman. But that's as far as Dudley Do-right went. The next sound I heard was the door slamming and a Snidely Whiplash evil laugh, "Now you are in jail! HaHaHaHaHa!"
     Tears and cries of despair followed. This pattern continued over the coarse of the evening, with the addition of me and Scott threatening Ian with every kind of punishment. He would look at us and promise to be good, apologize to Christeal, and start all over again. I could tell none of the threats meant anything because every time we issued one, he had that Ian gleam in his eyes. Follow through didn't help either. It was just one of those nights. That night continued into the next morning. I knew Christeal was doomed as soon as Ian grabbed that stupid Nerf gun. Although he embellished  everything by adding a cowboy hat.
     Ian also refused to get dressed today. His outfit consisted of a pajama shirt and underwear. So you can imagine how he looked in his cowboy hat. My visiting teachers came over at eleven. Ian greeted them, all decked out in his finery, with these words, "Go away!"
     Accompanying his creative play, were sound effects. While he pretended to be a gun-slinging jailer, cowboy whoops and a neighing horse were his soundtrack. Then he switched to sirens so he could play with his cars.
     Sirens. You haven't experienced my son's talent for sound effects until you've heard him wail like a firetruck. He also imitates police cars, ambulances, European police cars, and European ambulances. It's an art. He sounds like the real thing. And the volume? Wow. It pierces the eardrums and you vibrate down to your socks. And he does this all day long. He seems to have a need for loud noises. He can fall asleep with an iPod on full blast, blaring Def Leppard. He loves to push the find button on the phone docking station, so that all the phones in the house will beep loudly until we turn them off. He listens to the radio at a deafening volume, and his computer games aren't any better. I've had his hearing checked. It's perfect. He just has this intense need for the stimulating powers of noise.
     So on this third day home, I'm feeling a bit frazzled and run down. I would like some peace and quiet, maybe a darkened bathroom with candles and a hot bubble bath. I'd like to escape, perhaps to a movie or a restaurant, maybe take a nice drive in the rain. And I can't wait for tomorrow.
     Tomorrow, he goes back to school.