The Bandit Rodeo

There was a lot going on at the Bright Compound yester eve.  I got home from work and both kids were in their respective rooms sniveling.  Apparently, SOMEONE wrote with ball point pen on my & My Honey’s sheets and wouldn’t fess up.  I also found blue crayon on The Bandits sheets and his wall.  Needless to say, The Bandit is restricted from using any writing utensil for a week.  But he tries.  He asked me in the most plaintive, angel voice if he could have a pen so he could practice writing his name.  What good decent mother would refuse her child’s desire for education?  This one, that’s who.  Nice try, little boy.

 He also cut his own hair last night.  Sassy immediately professed no knowledge how his head came to be missing half his hair.  I have a tendency to believe her.  Her misbehavior stems mostly from her mouth, not her misdeeds.  He tried to tell me that: 1) I cut it. 2) his teacher cut it 3)it just happened 4) he didn’t know who did it.  In that order.  I think he needs to work on his timeline when lying.  The troubling thing is that we can’t find any evidence of the hair cut.  I expected to find hair somewhere, but nope.  Mysterious.  It doesn’t look too bad unless you stand taller than him and look at his head.  Unfortunately, he’s short.  Remember, he’s four.

The last event in The Bandit Rodeo came at around midnight.  I went in to get him up to go potty in order to avoid a wet bed.  That is a truly hysterical event every evening.  He never actually wakes up, you just walk him into the bathroom, holding him up like a drunk, lean him against the potty and when he feels the porcelain on his thighs, he goes.  Anyway, when I went last night he was wearing his Batman top and ABSOLUTELY NOTHING else.  That would be fine if I walked in and found Christian Bale like that, but not so much The Bandit.  It sets your mind racing.  What could he possibly been up to?  I live in fear that I’ll find out. 

And that, Dear Reader, is why no new words were written last night.  I know you’ll forgive me.  Or, you could come over and wrangle The Bandit and I’ll write like the wind.  No? Ah, well.