30 seconds

Kevin just wanted thirty seconds.

That’s not much.

Seriously.

It isn’t

anything

actually.

30 seconds.

All this father of six asked for was thirty seconds of calm and relative quiet at our dinner table.

(Is that what the soundtrack of your life sounds like too?)

Anyway.

30 seconds.

Kevin explains the rules in his official Dad Voice.

No talking.

(He allows Otto Fox an exemption based solely on his age.  Solely on his age and his dashing good looks.  Solely on his age, his dashing good looks and his irresistible charm.)

No wiggling.

No exploding.

30 seconds.

That’s all.

The kids blast him with a series of logical questions.

“What if your hair is falling out?”

“What if your finger falls off?”

Piper chimes in – “What if my alien friends tickle me?”

NO.

None of these situations deem talking as an acceptable response.

Not one of them.

Just be quiet for 30 seconds.

Okay.

30 seconds.

Can anyone at our table complete this impossible task?

Suppressed giggles.

A thumb as a noise stopper in the middle of the mouth.

Hey, whatever it takes, kid.

I think most of the Band of Keigley managed to dig deep and pull through the next 30 seconds.

Although, I’ll admit it.

Once I started really thinking about Piper’s question, it was an uphill battle all the way.