I’ll admit it: I’m a news junkie. I read the papers and watch C-SPAN late at night. (Nerd, you say? That’s Geek Chic, thank you very much!). But a while back I was watching a congressional debate, and at one point I became unusually transfixed:

The House had just had a vote, people were milling about, a few were shouting, and then the man at the head table picks up a gavel, bangs it, and shouts, “The House Will Come To Order!!” And they did.

At least for a moment.

That got me thinking. How *great* would it be to have a gavel that I could bang when things were getting out of control in my own home, and shout “THIS house will come to order!”

Now I’m not thinking Mary Poppins-esque style of toys magically putting themselves away and beds making themselves. I’m thinking more along the lines of instant recognition by the kids that they were out of line, without the raised voices and promises of no books after bed if they don’t start behaving.

Can you imagine how handy? Fighting in the backseat of the car? Bang goes the gavel. Arguing over the blocks in the basement? Pound it again! Coming out of their room for the 57th time to get a glass of water at night? Thump! All the kids scurry back to bed.

But then again, it would probably end up similar to how it works in the real House of Representatives. How might this go?

Me, banging gavel: “This house will come to order! I have asked you here to sit and eat your dinner without excessive running about, lolly-gagging or poking of your siblings.”

Emma raises her hand.

Me: “The speaker recognizes the young lady from the messy room upstairs.”

Emma: “I have a point of order, Madam Momma. I don’t believe we read aloud the menu for the evening prior to your preparation of it.”

Me: “The reading of the menu was waived this weekend, when I wrote out the menu on the board, and we took a verbal vote on it.”

Emma: “I call for a recorded vote on that menu. Who said yes to brussel sprouts? I want to hold those people accountable.”

Me: “You are out of order. The measure was voted on and passed. Onto next business…”

Ryan raises his hand.

Me: “The speaker recognizes that young man in the Spiderman costume. State your business.”

Ryan: “I wanna ask you a question.”

Me: “You have a question on the menu?”

Ryan: “No. I wanna tell you about Spiderman. And Star Wars. And Black Spidey. And…”

Emma interrupts: “Ryan, we know ALL ABOUT Spiderman, now… (begins poking at her brother).”

Me, pointing the gavel at Emma: “The boy representing the radio-active Spider bitten population has NOT yielded the floor. Please refrain from further comment until you have been recognized.”

Me, pointing to Ryan: “Have you finished your question?”

Ryan: “Yes. No. Yes.”

Me: “Okay.” Big sigh. “So the next issue is an amendment to the Bill, uh, I mean menu, to substitute Broccoli for brussel sprouts on the menu for this eve.”

Looking at both of them. “Would you like to vote on this?”

“Yes,” they nod.

Me: “Okay, all in favor of said substitution say “aye”. (AYE!) All opposed? (silence). Motion carries.” And the gavel bangs again.

And when the gavel bangs, it is the opposite of coming to order—it’s the sheer chaos and joy of having avoided the dreaded sprout. No amount of shouting “come to order!” is going to work.

But a mom can dream.