SLANG DAVIS

It was kind of like the time I yelled NAKED MOLE RAT to get my kids to stop fighting.

That time, I was going to set my hair on fire if I had to hear one more argument, so I yelled the most ridiculous phrase I could think of, knowing both gremlins have a tragic weakness for weirdness.

It worked. They paused mid-pinch/mid-shove, looked up at me with very round eyes, and said mama tell us what is that.

I led them to the television, took a deep breath, and gathered all the faith I have in the interwebs. I was not disappointed: I quickly found a documentary about a German researcher named Rosie and her journey from not knowing what a mole rat was to being one of the world’s foremost experts. Bam, 51 minutes of blessed silence from the romper room. They came out explaining sound research methods, asked to see it again, and I had won my life.

[Note: we are still getting mileage out of Rosie. Some hot, sweaty, pinch-riddled afternoons I hiss how about Rosie and the mole rats, so that I won’t have to swipe at their addled little brains with a rolled up magazine, and the chorus line pops immediately into chanting relief: Rosie and the mole rats! Rosie and the mole rats!]

Of course the spring of sibling conflict never runneth dry between five-year-old twins, so fast forward a few months