Baby C is a funny little man. He’s got his daddy’s sense of humor. He likes to play little games. To test the limits of his father’s sanity. Much like his father does to, well, everyone else.
This morning when it was time to go I took the final swig from my morning cup of coffee. I then rose from my desk chair to take my mug into the kitchen to rinse it out and put it in the sink. When I came back into the living room he was sitting in the desk chair. A chair he knows he’s not allowed to sit in because he tries to get into everything on the desk.
So when I saw him there I stopped and gave him the look. You know, that look every parent gives to their child(ren) that says, “You little punk. Why did you do that?” I received that look a lot as a child. And still sometimes do. I’m sure my mommy’s proud. It’s funny to see the look now. Back then, not so much.
Baby C, upon receipt of the look, started to laugh, which is of course what I do when I get the look from my mother. This, in turn set his brothers off laughing. I began walking towards him to get him out of the chair. As I lifted him from the chair I told him, “You’re not funny.”
He, evidently, disagreed, and spent the next few seconds telling me just how funny he is. “Funny! Funny! Funny!” he exclaimed, which of course caused his brothers to start cackling even louder. That encouraged him, so he kept saying it.
It’s never-ending laughs at my place, folks. My mom told me my kids would be just like me and I’ll be damned if she wasn’t right.