Lately, every afternoon at about 4:00 my bed becomes a pirate ship. My picnic basket is filled with old Beanie Babies and stuffed animals and becomes a deckful of swabbies. My paint stirrers become swords. My empty toilet paper tubes become telescopes. ANYTHING stationery in our house becomes an evil pirate. Apparently today the pirates all went running into my dryer. I was on the phone with my sis-in-law and heard a bunch of commotion in the laundry room. I went in to find Wilson hanging out in the dryer. I told him he had to stay for a second so I could take his picture but then he had to get out. Jack, hearing all the fun coming from the laundry room, came running to make sure his number one hiding spot was still secure. When he found his arch nemesis (our first born, two-legged child) in there he decided it was more than he could take. He'd risk getting cooties from touching said child to regain his territory. As he jumped in, he got a whack on the snout with the neon hot wheels that Captain Wilson was currently wielding. I wish we could figure out why they don't get along better?! Curiouser & curiouser. Anyway, when I told Wilson to get out he asked the most profound of all three-year-old questions. "Why?" "Well, what if I didn't know you were in there and turned it on!? Would that be very fun?" He looked at me and grinned. I told him that the correct answer was NO, that, in fact, it would not be fun.
(And "yes", to all you Sherlocks out there who noticed I said the pirate parade begins at 4:00pm and these photos show Wilson in his jammies, he was still in the flannel winter pajamas when I posted at 2:30 this afternoon and he stayed in them until about 30minutes before we ate supper tonight. He changed then because he spilt water down his shirt and hates even mildly damp clothes. Does anyone know if they're looking for a new assistant for Mr. Monk- I think I pretty much understand the job description.)
And for one more laugh before I go to bed- Wilson, Phil, and I were watching a movie tonight and Wilson started climbing over Phil to get to me and chose, as usual, to go the shortest route, not the most polite or comfortable. This particular route involved Wilson's knee digging into Phil's shin. I explained to Wilson that Dad's shins hurt when they get hit just like his do and that he needed to be careful climbing on people.
"Oh, sorry, Mom."
"Tell Dad, not me!"
"Hey, Dad, not her."
Thank you and good night- he'll be here all week!