After being tucked into bed multiple times and threatened with bodily harm* if he dared get off his bed AGAIN, it was a very timid, sheepish, completely freaked-out Anthony who tiptoed his way from the kitchen into the family room, where Kenny and I were watching television.
“Mom,” he whispered, tears gathering in his eyes, “there is a bug in my room. It might even be a spider. Please, please, please come and kill it before it gets me.”
I grabbed the fly swatter on our way back to his room. He climbed back up the ladder and took great pleasure in smashing the offending creature. I traded him the fly swatter for a kleenex, so he could clean up the remains. (There were none that I could see on the fly swatter, so I figured his wall had to be a disgusting mess.)
After a few seconds of vigorous rubbing, he crawled to the other side of the bed, looked down at me sheepishly, and said, “So, I think it wasn’t a bug or a spider after all. I think it was boogers. From, y’know, when I pick my nose and wipe it on the wall.”
What do you say to that? Besides, “Eeew, gross, disgusting, don’t do it again, tomorrow you’re wiping down your entire wall, I will get you a box of tissues, you are SO lucky your bed is so high I can’t see that, what is WRONG with you, that is so so SO gross and disgusting!”
Where do they learn this stuff? Honestly…
*Not really. Settle down.