I absolutely adore being a Mom for countless reasons.  One of which is the fact that my kids keep me young at heart.  So young that I’ll probably be the crazy grandma singing karaoke at my granddaughter’s Sweet 16.

I’m just giving everyone fair warning.  While I’ve got a couple years to work on my karaoke act, I do give other performances on a regular basis.  These performances aren’t about applause, but more about nonstop giggles and pleas of, “Mom, stop! I’m gonna pee my pants!”  One of my masterpieces is a number I call being “sneaky snakes.”

Judging from the awkward glances I got this weekend, I’m guessing not everyone knows about being “sneaky snakes”.  For those who don’t know, let me explain the crazy, inner workings of my mind.  This occurs on random nights of good behavior when I get the kiddos to bed on time.  I sneak back into their rooms and whisper, “Who wants to be sneaky snakes?”  After a trio of hushed “Me! Me! Me!” shouts, the kids slide out of bed and tip toe to the door in their PJ’s, no shoes, and best behavior.

“Sneaky snakes” isn’t about going to Sonic for ice cream, it’s a special ops routine for securing treats past enemy lines (read: bed times).

The kids are giddy with excitement as they follow the rules: inside the car with windows up is the safe talking zone, you must be ready for bed, and incredibly sneaky at all times since no one can see you in your PJ’s.  If you fail your mission, “they” will get you and steal your ice cream.  And we simply can’t risk that!

I do this a couple times a month with the kids and it never gets old.  To see the serious looks on their faces and their extravagant schemes to avoid detection, you would think the military should be calling.   Of course they know that “mommy’s kidding” about the whole ordeal, but no one in this Soccer Mom’s SUV will admit that out loud.  Between homework, chores, and schedules, we live in the real world enough.

If you ever meet one of my kids on the playground and they start telling elaborate tales of “sneaky snake” operations, now you know.  They’re not imagining things, and neither am I.  Being a playful parent to three stark raving mad kids is about as real as it gets.

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