mind of a boy

I am going to have to learn to lock the bathroom door. This was not an issue in all the years I've been married: door closed = bathroom occupied. Dennis doesn't subscribe to that particular theory yet. Doors don't deter him. So I should have known better, should not have been surprised when he barged in on me this morning. He got on whiff of the atmosphere in the bathroom and clapped his hand over his nose, staggered backward, and pretended to collapse in a heap on the floor. He sprang up and asked (of all things) "what are you doing, Mom?". I answered with the most economical of responses: "bathroom--PRIVACY! See what happens?!?!" and I pointed to the door. He returned momentarily, brandishing a wand of bubbles in a long tube. He announced "I've come to fix your stinkiness!" and he pulled out the loaded bubble wand and danced around, waving it and flinging bubble liquid hither and yon. He left as quickly as he came, and I was left to try and safely navigate my way from the commode over a floor slick with his deodorizing attempt.

This afternoon, he asked if he could squirt water from his fire truck into my mouth, and after seeing that he was referring to a matchbox truck with no reservoir for actual water, I agreed. He aimed the tiny ladder at my open mouth and I pretended to lap it greedily. He giggled and asked me to return the favor. When I did, he looked shocked and said "yuck! I got SALT water!" and he retched and gagged and pretended to spit it out. What followed (I'm ashamed to say) was a 20 minute fake hurling contest between the two of us with loud gagging and funny faces and much laughter. It was awesome. I think maybe tomorrow we should try and get out of the house some.