One of the most rewarding parts of being a parent is watching your children develop sophistication and maturity. But that's not nearly as fun as watching them develop a sense of humor. And after countless painful attempts at crafting "knock, knock" jokes, ("Knock, knock." "Who's there?" "Pineapple." "Pineapple who?" "Pineapple unintelligible muttering that leaves me wanting to claw my eyes out." And that was one of the better ones.) Noah has finally found a form of humor that works for him. Practical jokes.

The foundation was laid back in September. My mother had gone to our local historical society's garage sale fundraiser. At one point in the afternoon, I looked outside and noticed two short legs hanging down from the chair-swing in our tree. The back of the swing was facing me, but I could just barely see a hint of a hat above the top of the swing. The strange thing was, it looked like someone was SLUMPED OVER in the swing. And all of my kids were inside, so it wasn't any of them.

I decided to go out and investigate. Which freaked Noah out because he was seriously afraid that there was someone DEAD in the swing. I was a little more rational and checked it out.

 

 

It turns out that our visitor was a life-sized gingerbread man doll that my mother thought would make a fun Christmas decoration for the kids. And she decided that the best way to give it to them was to leave it in our side yard, looking like a drunk passed out in the swing. The kids thought it was hilarious and they have been playing with it ever since.

And that brings me to last night.

As I worked on putting Violet to sleep, Sean walked down the hallway to say goodnight to Eli and Caleb. After a few minutes, the relative calm was interrupted by a very loud, "Aaaah! WHAT THE HECK???"

Have I ever mentioned that my husband has this slight, COMPLETELY RATIONAL (ahem) fear of dolls? And clowns? A fear that might be touched upon just slightly by the sight of a giant gingerbread man in a dark room? Particularly if he were heading towards the restroom and said gingerbread man BEAT HIM THERE?

Yes, I'm proud of my boy. By the time his father got to that toilet, I'm not sure if he actually still needed to use it.

Of course, that began several minutes of severe trash-talking between my six-year-old and my husband. Because they are, apparently, on the same level. By the time Noah went to bed, though, Sean was extremely proud of the fact that his son was afraid of waking up outside. Naked. Much daddy-strutting commenced because, obviously, he was IN HIS SON'S HEAD.

Or not.

Sweet dreams, Daddy.