I don’t know what happened.
Just four short years ago, my wife and I came home from Yavapai Regional Medical Center with a beautiful, bright eyed little baby boy.
Ten little toes, ten little fingers, two rosy little cheeks. Well, four if he decides to go commando.
Then, over the past couple of months, he’s gone under some kind of a strange transformation.
That sweet little kid has turned into a crazed monkey man.
I woke up the other morning and he was hovering over my head, climbing the bedroom curtains like some insane Swiss mountain climber trying to reach the summit. I woke up just in time to witness his descent. Evidently he’s a responsible climber, having read up on climbing etiquette, because when he descended, he followed the “Leave No Trace” rule.
He left no trace of his gear when the curtains, the curtain rod, the hardware holding up the curtain rod, and some nice size chunks of drywall all came crashing down.
I’m just glad my head was there to break his fall. Wouldn’t want him hitting the pillows or mattress directly now would I?
This was just one instance of what I see as a pattern.
For instance, two weeks ago, when we set up the BB gun shooting range in the hallway? He almost started without first putting the duct tape safety cover over the hall light.
How dangerous is that? A stray BB could have busted a bulb and there’s not much room under our throw rug to sweep stuff under since our plate juggling practice session the day before.
I know some of his behavior is a result of hockey withdrawals. He’s been a little antsy since the Sundogs season ended, so last Tuesday we decided to play a little living room game, complete with ice.
Since it would have been impractical to ice over the ceramic tile, we did the next best thing- ice cubes for a puck.
This worked out pretty good until first intermission. FYI: warm Kool-Aid is much, much better than fuzzy Kool-Aid.
I don’t understand it. What should have been a nice release of energy just got monkey boy more wound up.
I figured a nice, relaxing afternoon of board games would do the trick, so out came the Monopoly. Or as I like to call it “Monafia”.
Growing up, Monopoly games in our house were serious business. Backroom deals, hostile take over’s, jail breaks, and bank robberies were the norm.
What better way to learn the kid the ways of the world that a good old fashioned game of Monafia?
My strategy was to corner the slum lord market, packing the low rent district of Baltic and Mediterranean with high rises.
He landed, was short of cash, and I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.
To show my reasonableness, I made a trip to the little boy’s room, giving him a moment to reflect on my generosity.
What did the little primate do?
I came back to find my little metal puppy in jail, half my houses blown off the board, and my cash all gone.
Where does he get these ideas?
Chess was no better.
Nothing’s scarier than finding a headless knight in your bed.
Last night I couldn’t sleep, laying there worried about what’s causing these outrageous changes in my sweet little boy. In the wee hours of the morning I think I figured it out.
Since mid-June, right about the time this crazed behavior began, I started spending every day with him.
All day, every day.
Just me and him.
So it’s obvious, isn’t it?
Monsoon season started right about then.
It’s gotta be the weather…