My son plays really nicely by himself, which is good considering he's an only child. Our house is small, so we don't have a family/playroom. He plays in his room and we've set it up to give him lots of floor space. He's an incessant talker and story teller, he comes by this genetically, if his dad's awake, he's talking. If he's playing he's talking and making up stories. It's when he's quiet I know he's up to something, and when he's quiet and closes his bedroom door, I know he's REALLY up to something.
Well, yesterday while I was blogging, he closed his bedroom door and it was way, way too quiet. I opened his door and this is how the conversation went:
me: "What are you doing??"
him: Blinking stare
me: A little louder, "What are you doing in here?"
him: With a big smile, "I peepeed in Max." Max is a toy dump truck (every toy has a name, it usually connects to the "Thomas the Tank Engine" series.)
me: I'm getting a little louder now, "What do you mean you peepeed in Max? Where is Max now?"
him: Still smiling, "In the bathroom."
I run to the bathroom and discover a puddle in front of the toilet. He spilled it while "dumping" Max into the toilet. Junior got a crash course in how to clean a bathroom floor.
I'm rather proud of myself--I wasn't a raving lunatic, and didn't even yell. My husband thought it was hysterical. My sister thought it showed imagination--yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.
2 comments:
I'm with your husband and sister on this. That is so cute :)
Little boys - they are such odd little creatures aren't they? I had two of my own and now I can laugh (sort of) at those kinds of stories.
Kristie--it was all I could do to keep a straight face while telling him to never, never, never do this again. That was after we cleaned up the mess.
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