.

One of the kids had done something but I wasn’t sure which one. I knew they’d only blame each other if I asked. So I called them and said “I’m afraid I’m going to have to put the dog down.”

.

“NNNnnnnnnnoooooOOOOOO!” screamed the six year old, with tears in his eyes.

.

“Yes,” I said, “he did a very bad thing.”

.

“What did he do?” they both cried.

.

“…He put a permanent marker in his mouth and drew a big black circle on the wall in the bathroom!”

.

“That wasn’t the dog!” shouted the six year old -“that was an accident!”

.

“So it was YOU!”

.

“I dropped it!” he part-confessed. Case solved! 🙂

.

The funny thing is we don’t even have a dog.

.

.

.

We were driving through the snow earlier today when a philiosophical young five year old came out with a good one from the back seat.

.

“Y’know,” he said, “snow is like people…”

.

I asked how.

.

“They both go up and over the car” he explained. I noticed how the falling flakes changed its downward path as the car sliced through the light blizzard.

.
“How do people go up and over the car?” I asked.

.
“Y’know …when they hit the bonnet”

.

It started at the bottom of the garden. Our four year old (at the time), our sweet little boy would casually drop his pants and piss into a bush whilst on his travels.

.

We laughed. We explained that he can’t do that everywhere and that it’s not a great idea to be doing it in the garden either.

.

For a while he had his own little spot. We didn’t allow him do it, but it was kind of cute so we weren’t exactly angry at him (still not of course). We’d call his name mid stream, his stream would wiggle and stop, then he’d pull up his pants and run away without looking.

He’s now five and still at it, although in fairness most of the time he does it right. I guess he just likes to try out new places.

.

Last week, he informed Mrs. Rumm he was off to the bathroom. She watched as he left the room, then followed at a discreet distance, noting the mischievious tone in his voice…

The bathroom door is next to the backdoor of the house. Instead of turning right to go into the bathroom, he turned left, stood on the step at the back door and pissed to the outside air.

.

Yesterday, he came in from outside and went upstairs. I was downstairs and shouted up to him to go wash his hands.

“I will,” he called back nonchalantly.

It’s not that I don’t trust him, but I know when he answers for the sake of answering even though he hasn’t heard a word I just said.

So I went up a couple of steps and was able to peek through the bannister into the upstairs toilet.

Young Master Rumm had walked to the side of the sink and was now climbing onto the bath. Now he reached across and put his knees onto the wooden frame around the sink. Now he dropped his pants and like a little Cupid fountain, kneeling, began to piss into the sink as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

.

Conscious of the mid-stream splaying wiggle he has whenever confronted in the garden, I said his name softly. As if nothing had happened, he came to a halt, pulled up his trousers, climbed down, then continued his stream at the toilet bowl.

.

Whatchagonnadowiththat?

.