The tale of the fly-swatter

I was just finishing my morning coffee when the scream came from the table:

"GRANDMAAAAAAAAAAA!!! Aziz hit me with the fly-swatter!" Medina could barely say the words because she was crying so hard. I doubt that the hit with the swatter was that painful, but she's three and she likes to cry. Aziz is four (almost five), the tsar of our house, and he also likes to cry. He also likes to hit people.

My host-mom hoisted herself up from her chair and ran to the table (I've never seen an old woman move so quickly!). She grabbed the fly-swatter from where Aziz had discarded it on the ground. Aziz, guessing her intentions, ran to the other side of the table. From there a complex game of 'chase the kid around the table' began. My host-mom, in traditional Uzbek dress with hair covered, chased Aziz around and around the table as he fled and proceeded to cry harder and harder.

The commotion upset the baby, who started screaming. Nigina, who is seven and above it all, sat on the swing and laughed. My host-sister didn't bother to interrupt her breakfast and mechanically kept eating. The only thing that could have added to the commotion would be a barking dog. Luckily, we don't have one, but I'm tired of children and retreated to my room. After I shut the door, I heard my most-mom yell,

"You see, Aziz! Ailey is so tired of you, she had to go to her room! Ailey will not like you if you act like this!"

This is pretty much the truth.