Word to the Witless

Introduction to the Third Sibling

         Out of the corner of my eye, I see a small hand wrapped around the side of the fridge. I smile and turn. The figure peeks his head out from behind the fridge, and his big eyes stare back at mine. Blonde hair covers his head in messy waves, and his eyes are an exact replica of mine, only more giant and vibrant. Darn those little green eyes pleading for cheerios.

         I tilt my head and put a hand on my hip. “Oh, you little rascal! You caught me, bud!” I walk over, bend down and pick up my younger brother. Oh, and he’s also my favourite two-legged creature physically alive in this time period. I’m no perfect religion freak, (like, ‘believe in God or die with the rest of them! Mwahaha,’) but, I mean, Jesus… I love the guy.

         The little bipod is two years already, and an adorable boy version of what I looked like when I was little. Other than the blonde. He’s got the blonde and I’ve got my brown.

         I bounce him on my hip, even though he’s more than twenty-four months old. “You want some porridge, bud?”

         Before I asked the question I knew he wanted my cereal. Ronnie giggles and covers his mouth with his hands. Shaking his head no repetitively, he points to the one and only cheerio box, atop the counter.

         I sigh and pick up the box with my free hand. “These?”

         Ronnie gives a little laugh and smiles like a freak.

         I make a face at him. “You don’t want these, yuck! These taste like your unchanged diaper!” I pat him on the butt, making him giggle even louder.

         He grabs the box from my hands, covering his whole face with it. What’s he doing?

         Weird noises come from behind the box that separates us: mouth noises. “Ronnie, what’re you doin’ behind there, you little rascal?” I laugh.

         I put my ear on my side of the box and hear the noises again. He sounds like an under-the-bed monster, eating a little girl…

         I hear that same noise come from him that you make when a doctor tells you to say, “Ah” and open your mouth.

        “Ronnie, are you eating the box? Ronnie, stop it! No!” I grasp the box with the hand that’s not willing to drop my favourite being. However, his grip is all the more powerful with two little hands than mine is with one. I mean, I’m not just going to grab it from him, but I’m trying at the least.

         I turn the box and find tiny bite marks on the box, from small teeth not strong enough to make a hole. Instead it's just wet with slobber. He sticks out his tongue, struggling to lick my arm. Meanwhile, with all this happening, another figure comes in, most likely to steal my cereal.

         Rhett stands there in the living room doorway. He rubs his eyes and runs his hands through his bedhead. He can hear me and Ronnie, but chooses to pay no attention. Walking towards the fridge beside Ron and me, Rhett snatches the cereal box with a quick sweep of his hand. With that, he whips the fridge wide open and handles the milk carton like it’s not full of liquid. I don’t even stop him, he’s a grouch today.

         Ronnie mostly stops his whole licking scene as soon as Rhett sits down to eat. Immediately Ronnie yells at me, pointing to Rhett, “Chee-roos, Monny!”

         I give Rhett the evil-eye, even though I know he isn’t paying the least amount of attention to us. I set Ronnie on the ground and crouch so we’re at eye-level. I hold his sticky little boy hands and tell him, yet again… “MO-LLY, say it.”

         Pouting, he sticks out his lip. Ronnie hates pronouncing words he can’t get right off the bat.

         “Don’t stick out that lip, you’ve said it before.” I brush his hair away from his forehead, “Just try once.”

         Ronnie puffs out a little pouty breath and looks up at the ceiling. He thinks for a bit, and I’m sure he’s going to say it. He’s only said my name once before. For a two year old, Ronnie is a bit behind on his speech. Well, he picks up everything but my name…

         I sigh. He’s going to do it, I have a strong feeling.

         Ronnie opens his mouth, pausing before saying quickly, “Monny!” He then scurries away quickly, light on his feet.

         Well.

         I stand up, shaking my head before getting a clean bowl from the dishwasher. I set the bowl on the counter and grab the box of cheerios. Wait… I shake the box, feeling how empty it is.

         “Ugh, Rhett!” I complain. “These aren’t for you, Pig!”

         He lifts his head up to look at me in a late response. Holding his spoon, he gives me an annoyed look and shovels the spoon into his mouth. Well, his chin, but I’m assuming he thought it was his mouth. Because his doing-two things-at-once-is-easy motto really works for him!

         Rhett looks down at his black AC/DC shirt that now has milk on it. “Aw, sh—“

         “Rhett!” I cut in, staring him down, “Think before you say things around little rascals…” I nod, motioning towards Ronnie, perched up on a chair beside him. I call him a rascal sometimes, not really knowing where it came from.

         I can’t say I like the language either. People can say whatever they want around me. However, I choose not to, and happen to have the right to choose for others while around Ronnie.

         Rhett pats Ronnie on the head, then turning to me. “Moll, hand me my shirt,” he points past me.

         “Where?”

         “Floor.” He lifts his shirt and begins licking the milk from Angus Young’s face.

         I would give him a disgusted look, but we both know I’d do it too. I throw him the dirty shirt instead.

         “Thanks,” Rhett mumbles as he catches the shirt. He whips off AC/DC, flicking it over into a corner of the kitchen, and puts on a Vincent Van Gough “Starry Night” tee. I smirk. His ex-girlfriend Julianne gave him it for Christmas, which he deserved all the way. Don’t get me wrong, I like art; not him though. Rhett’s whole relationship went down the drain once Julianne realised he was only pretending to like art because she was a big fan of art.

         “What?” Rhett asks as I smirk. “I was out of her league and you know it,” he rolls his eyes and laughs. He stands up and ruffles Ronnie’s hair. “Right, Scooby?”

         Ronnie giggles and covers his mouth in response. His eyes squint from a chubby-cheek overload, and his smile is so big he gets excited and doesn’t let anyone see it.

         I laugh. Yeah, way out of her league… I shove the bowl of cheerios over to Ronnie.

         He frowns, sticking out his lip again. Not the lip, oh Lord, what’s wrong now?

         “What’s wrong? I thought you wanted these?” I ask.

         “No!” He yells, shaking his head.

         “Why not? See, look.” I pretend to eat them so he’ll get jealous and realise he’s hungry again.

         Ronnie keeps shaking his head over and over, until I hear silent crying. Once he stops shaking his head, a tear falls down his cheek. “No yucky diapers, Monny! They taste blah!”

        Oh, the things Ronnie believes...

         He’s crying. Ronnie is crying and I’m standing here, forcing myself not to breakout into hysterical laughter.

                                                                                                      -------catgurlee7-------