Endless looping

“Boooob the Builder!” Tyler thunders south, from kitchen to living room.

“CAN WE FIX IT?” Noah thunders north, from living room to kitchen.

“Booooob the Builder!” Noah thunders southward.

“CAN WE FIX IT?” Tyler responds, northbound.

It’s a thunder-footed call-and-response, up and down the length of my house. But…

Booooob the Builder!

Can we fix it?

only those two lines.

Booooob the Builder!

Can we fix it???

where’s the last line?

Booooo the Builder!

Can we fix it?

It’s kind of driving me crazy, a song that never gets to the final note, the first chord of a cadence, but no return to tonic. That lack of resolution, the dangling participle, the unfinished business, up and down my house, north to south, south to north, two gallumphing, bellowing loose ends.

Boooooob the Builder!

Can we fix it?

Like a door hanging open, a book set aside one page from the end, a drawer half-pulled, a telephone call abruptly hung up… It’s rapidly becoming finger nails scraping down the blackboard of my mind.

Boooooob the Builder!

Can we fix it?

Can they not FINISH?

Boooooob the Builder!

Can we fix it?

Aagh!

Boooooob the Builder!

Can we fix it?

I can’t stand it a moment longer. “YES WE CAN!!!”

Two small boys come to an immediate halt. Four very round, amazed eyes rivet on my face. (My smiling face, because, hey, I can see the humour in my own exasperation.)

“That’s the last line, remember? ‘Can we fix it? YES, WE CAN!'”

A moment more stare-age, and they’re off again.

Boooooob the Builder!

Can we fix it?

And… can it be…

Boooooob the Builder!

Can we fix it?

No, they can’t.

Sigh.