Parents Vs Ninjas

Enter the Ninjas!

The first time I met a ninja was after a long day's work. And trust me, when I say a long day's work, I mean starting before 6am and not finishing until after 7pm. I mean nonstop, all the time hustle that would make a marine cry for his mama. Because that's what I am, a Mom.

I'd just finished that daily bout of ritualistic violence known as bedtime and had just settled in to enjoy a much-needed reading break when I heard the sound of stealthy not quite silence that usually heralds one of my kids attempting to escape their bedroom. Imagine my surprise to instead find a group of black-clad ninjas attempting to sneak behind me!

I stood up and folded my arms.

"And what do you think you're doing?" I asked in my best interrogation voice, the kind that normally asks "what's in your mouth?" or "where have you been?"

The ninjas hung their heads like kindergarteners caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"We need your son," began one, when she was cut off by a second.

"Don't tell her! She's using her parenting powers on you! She mustn't be allowed to stop our mission!"

Drawing his katana, the second ninja leaped at me.

I quickly sidestepped before employing "Give Me the Sharp Object Before You Hurt Yourself," a move that works equally well on ninjas and toddlers. Now I had the katana. One "Time For a Diaper Change" later, and the would-be kidnapper was on the floor.

My parenting sixth sense alerted me to the ninja attacking from behind, so I did a "Catch the Falling Baby" leap out of the way and then rolled to my feet still holding a katana I had no real practice using. Too bad my husband wasn't here. He liked playing around with swords. Figures he'd be absent the one time ninjas actually attack.

The attacker I'd dodged came at me wielding a pair of sai daggers. Like that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle? I'd thought that an odd choice, too. I mean, even I knew that reach is everything in a swordfight.

Aiming for an arm, I swung at my opponent, only to get my katana's blade trapped in those u-shaped sai crossguards. Turns out those daggers aren't as useless as I thought. After a flick of her wrist sent my katana spinning across the living room (missing the TV, thank goodness), I decided to stick to the weapons I'm familiar with.

Two quick steps took me to the diaper pail, which I spun and opened right in the sai ninja's face. The sai fell from limp hands as she crumpled to the floor.

The glint off of reflected metal alerted me to the last ninja's thrown kunai knife. Just like I would with a thrown toy, I deflected it with my diaper pail. The second throwing knife was similarly deflected, before the third impaled the pail.

You know, this was actually kind of fun! Maybe I could become a ninja in my spare time.

I advanced on the last ninja, whose throwing became increasingly desperate. When I was nearly upon him he pulled out a whistle and blew a sharp note.

I ripped the whistle from his hand. "You'll wake the baby!" I hissed. "Now tell me what this is all about before you have to smell one of these diapers up close and personal!"

"It's your son!" he gasped. "He's been prophesied to become the greatest ninja ever, with the power to unite all the ninja clans under a single powerful ruler. We must have him before another clan takes him!"

That earned the would-be kidnapper a diaper rammed down his throat. My vision turned red and I snarled, "You'll steal my son over my dead body!"

"That can be arranged."

I whirled to find my living room swarming with more ninjas. That whistle must have been a call for help.

"Give up," said the leader, "For I am both a ninja and a parent. Your powers cannot defeat me, much less my entire warrior band."

"We'll see!" I snapped, hurling the diaper pail at him with all the strength of a mama bear.

The leader dodged, and the diaper pail landed hard on the ground in the middle of the other ninjas. The kunai knife still impaled on the pail hit the ground first, bursting the pail in pieces and making the surrounding ninjas start retching in their masks, those that didn't collapse.

"Your olfactory tactics cannot avail you!" cried the lead ninja, "For I have changed diapers myself!"

Together with the warriors who'd been out of range of the diaper stench, he attacked.

"Stop Kicking Your Sister" turned into "Toddler Pendulum" to smack a few ninjas aside, but there were just too many. A punch in the side disrupted "Let's Wash Your Hands," and a quarterstaff tripped me up before I could finish executing "Toss You Into Bed."

Falling under the weight of ninja numbers, I knew I needed backup. Sometimes even Mommy can't do it all by herself. Then I heard the rumble of the garage door opening.

"Honey!" I called.

"Buns!" cheered my husband Peter, materializing behind a group of ninjas before cleaning their clocks.

"Do you know what you call a ninja who's left the building?" asked my husband. "A noutja!"

All the ninjas covered their ears and groaned, all except for the leader who just cocked his head.

"That kind of dad joke puts the pun in punishment!" the leader snapped, throwing some shuriken at my husband.

My husband leaped on the couch like a champion napper, the shuriken missing by inches.

I wrapped the lead ninja in a "Hug of Infinite Stillness," completely immobilizing him. He tried to kick and headbutt me, but that's exactly the kind of behavior the Hug is meant to prevent, so his struggle was futile. I squeezed until his struggling stopped.

"Send a message to all the other ninja clans to call off your stupid quest. Nobody is taking my child, ever! Are we clear?"

"I'm afraid not. Our need is too great, and when our stealth fails, we ninja make a very effective distraction."

What??

I slammed the lead ninja to the floor before racing to my son's room. I was too late. The unnaturally well-made bed was empty. My son was gone!

TO BE CONTINUED!