Every Sunday night, I like to make a semi-fancy dinner for Diana. When she’s suggested getting take out, I’ve actually whined, “Sunday dinner is the only chance I have all week to be creeeeaaative!” I wish I could take back that whine. And my manhood.
Well, last night I was stirring and stirring and stirring my delicious risotto and I could hear Diana putting the boys to sleep upstairs via the baby monitor. Among the screaming the tickling I heard Elijah announce that he had to go downstairs to go to the bathroom.
“Ahh,” I thought, “This is my chance to scare the crap out of him.” I positioned myself behind the fridge and listened to him bound down the stairs. I pictured him, floppy blond hair, noodle arms flailing, wiener also flailing.
I heard him round the corner in our living room and pad into the kitchen. I leapt out from behind the fridge and yelled, “Booo!”
Elijah did the following. In order.
1. He shrieked.
2. He jumped a foot in the air.
3. He pooped.
Now, aside from the mind-boggling grossness of what happened, we both thought it was the funniest thing in the world. I couldn’t help but say, “Eli! I just scared the crap out of you!”
He responded, “You scared me and I pooped!” Thankfully, he didn’t not commit the swear to memory.
After we got him cleaned up, I tried to send him back upstairs. But he wouldn’t let it go.
“Daddy. Scare me again! Scare me again!”
I told him that scaring the poop out of him was not cool of me to do and I was sorry. But he asked again to scare him.
I pushed his little butt up our stairs and promised I’d scare the crap out of him the next night.
I look forward to it.
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