Boom! Bang! Aaaaaahhhh!
I race from my bed to see from where the wailing is streaming. I find my six year old son lying on the living room floor, screaming in pain, naked with his underwear in hand. Anger swells within me!
“What happened to you, son? Who did this to you?”
He is so injured that he can’t even settle long enough to speak. I finally rest into the sofa behind me and get him calmed enough that he is able to speak.
I ask again, “Who did this to you, son? What happened?”
He takes the heel of his hand and wipes the dribbling snot from his nose. “I just had to go potty before I went to bed.”
“So how did you get like this, on the floor?”
“Well, I couldn’t see where I was going.”
“Why? Why are you naked?” I persist.
“Well,” his tiny voice squeaks, “I took my pajamas off to go to the potty, and then I got a great idea.” A maniacal smile creeps across his face, one that I’m all too familiar with in myself. “I wondered what it would be like to put my underwear on my head and walk back to my room looking through the leg holes.”
“Let me get this straight,” I reply with a look of disgust, “you put dirty underwear on your head?”
Still wiping the tears from his watery eyes, “Yep.”
“Why are you naked?”
“Well,” he confidently replied, “I didn’t want to put my clothes on without underwear. That would be gross.”
I conceal a chuckle. “Son, get your clothes back on and go to bed.”
I walk around the corner to see my husband still lying casually on our bed. His eyes looking up at me, so sure that it was not a thief or a marauder, that of which I had tried to convince him just a few minutes before. His arrogant eyes irritate me.
“Wasn’t a criminal, was it?”
“You think you’re so smart.” I’m kind of teasing, kind of annoyed. “It was your son.”
He glances at the clock and sees the late hour. “What’s he still doing awake?”
“Apparently, he’s exploring the world, naked with his dirty underwear on his head.”
My husband starts to chuckle. He can’t help himself. He pulls the covers up over his face and continues chuckling so violently that the bed begins to do the Electric Slide.
“It’s not funny,” I add. “It’s disgusting.”
His laughter finally begins to shrink.
I hear my son settling into his bed, and I feel a little better that the world is once again at peace. I snuggle down into the blankets to get a good night’s rest when I hear my husband’s snigger start to reignite.
“What?” I snap.
“He’s so much like you it’s scary.”
“That is not true,” I defiantly retort. “I use clean underwear.”
Oh good grief! I think. This poor lad doesn’t have a chance.