Just the other day, I was worried I’d never be able to write another blog post about my offspring whizzing on the floor. But why would I worry about that when I have Luca Hamann in my life?
I got home from work and the boys were kind of being jerks. Diana had a look on her face that indicated I would be officially taking over as caregiver and she would be leaving to ride the rails to the old west.
Luca ran past me, nude (of course) and was screaming at the top of his lungs. Diana exasperatedly told him we do, in fact, have live human neighbors and they prefer to have intact eardrums.
He said in a silly voice, “Ok. Then I’ll just pee on the floor!”
Diana sarcastically said, “Fine. Go ahead.”
Luca looked like it was Christmas morning. “Okay!”
“No no no no no no no no no!” I shouted.
Luca, wiener in hand, said, “Mom said it was ok.”
“She was being sarcastic. Don’t point that thing at me.”
“No. Mom said it was ok. What’s sarcastic?”
I said, “It means she didn’t really mean what she said. She does not want you to pee on the floor.”
“But she said I could,” Luca said, cocking his head.
I walked into our room, where Diana was laying, rubbing her temples. I was about to ask her to please explain to her son that Hamann are not a peeing on the floor kind of family, at least those of north of the Mason Dixon line.
But then I heard the telltale sound of Châteaux De Peepee hitting the floor.
Without a word, I guided him into his room and shut the door for punishment. His cries of anger and feeling unjustly banished could be heard down the street.
Formula 409 in hand, I cleaned up the mess. Elijah walked by and said, “How are you?”
“Fantastic,” I said sarcastically.
“Great!” he chirped back.