boogerland

My older son’s been called sneaky, mischievous, a trouble-maker, punk, dickens and a “little rascal” (to which he replies, “I’m not little.”)

But there’s no doubt that he’s also very creative.

Take this morning.

I hear an electric buzzing. Yes, buzzing. Coming from behind the couch. It’s a fav hiding spot for my 3.5-year-old, so immediately, my pulse kicks up a notch.

I’m envisioning the the dustbuster.

Or an electric shaver. What could he destroy with that?

Or what about a battery-powered screwdriver? OMG! He could be screwing holes in his arms!

I bound to the couch, entering freak-out mode but not quite to full-fledged panic status.

And there he is. Sweet as an angel. Trucks lined up in a row. And he’s carfully edging the sides of his imaginary highway with an old, used-up electric toothbrush.

I take a deep breath. Remind myself that he’s OK.

Then, I ask him gently, “Whacha doin’?”

Without looking up, he answers: “Street sweeper.”

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