Tuesday, September 6, 2016

Assassin Mom: What to Do with a Church of Kids

She hadn't meant to have kids, and she certainly hadn't expected to have a lot of them. Twins, triplets, after Ann got tossed out of training she just started having them like that was a mission, absolutely sure that she'd settled down for life of domestic bliss, even though she'd just turned 16 when the whole thing started. But then the Japanese got ahold of her husband and… well… kids grow up.

Obviously she taught them what she knew which, since she'd started covert coaching when she was 8, was a lot. Carefully, slowly. Silly things like 'you'll fall down if you turn while we're playing tag so swing your feet and run toe ball, toe ball'. Not her fault that also trained them to be completely silent. 'Watch your opponent's chest to see which way they were turning'. Raising her kids that way was more natural to Ann than adapting to baking large casseroles for 12 and putting up organizational shelves.

She was devastated when Dan passed away. She recognized the symptoms. Poison, not that the coroner would ever find it. Ann knew why too, she had been noodling around on the internet too much. Her instructor would have called it fishing. Years passed before she could do anything at all about it, other than keep researching. Americans were sloppy about putting classified material on the internet.

She stopped ordering takeout and cooked everything at home. Training became a priority. Evan and Aden were one and a half when their father passed. There she was, all of 22, with 11 children. Had a church of kids and there was just Ann- all boys too. She was insanely grateful she was a Christian- putting enough fear into a group of boys to be prudent practically requires divine assistance.

Naturally she swore revenge. Not so much at the assassin- these things happen and contracts were rarely personal- but against the person who had given the orders. But it took another 12 years before she was comfortable leaving the youngest twins with a babysitter- although they would have freaked out if she called him that. God love him, poor man, about 41, a thatch of brown hair flying messily every which way as he took in the small living room with shelves mounted on every free patch of wall. Video games, sports equipment, outdoor equipment- there just weren't enough closets.

They were good boys, but they'd received a whole lot of guidance that they didn't really know about (they were naturals at sports and never questioned it. Ann had put them all through gymnastics and heard about it every one of the five years necessary to get them to the point where they could climb a building- her instructor would have had kittens at the complaining). Trouble tended to find them, and she'd let them slide towards a little rough and tumble to have the excuses that she needed. To buy a full nerf war set, to enroll them in karate (a "reward" for putting up with gymnastics), to take them camping.

Bert, was his name, and he seemed overly confident as he entered their little 5 bedroom flat. You read that right, it was 5 bedrooms, but it definitely felt little. She was off to Greece that afternoon so her battered luggage sat in the living room. Ann still had the same set from when she was sixteen. 

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