Back at the old game

09 July 2008

My boys finally tired of Pirates after two months of walking the plank and avasting ye lubbards in the back yard. I suppose two months is a long time when you're three and four years old, and it had now lost it's scurvy charm, as had hide-and-go-seek, duckduckgoose, and bubble wands. When I wouldn't let them watch the Backyardigans ("But you never let us watch kids shows and i just wanna watch TV all day!") Tyrannosaurus Caden decided it was high time I was dismembered or at least severely disfigured. Luckily I learned my dinoskills from the Velociraptor Master Morgan Gibbons, so I gave a jurassic squawk and hoisted my assassin onto the couch. Needless to say, the T. Rex was no match for my tickling claws.

Cal, once his older brother was incapacitated with giggles, leaped from the coffee table like some sabertooth spider monkey. He landed on me, and more tickling ensued. Caden burrowed under the cushions in escape, and, burying the monkey under floral print pillows, I flapped my wings and stated after my escaping prey. It was halfway around the dining room table, mid raptor leap and squawk, that I became suddenly very aware of life. At which point I started laughing. My life is completely ridiculous sometimes.

"Hey! Chase me! Dinosaurs don't just laugh!"

Oh excuse me. "Squawk!"