Heard from the back yard...

Dan: Mary-Beth, you may not throw snow at Jonah's face.

Mary-Beth: Oh.... right...

Jonah's Evil Plan

I was on the phone with Melissa a few days ago when I heard a noise from the boy's room that can only be his dresser hitting the wall. Of course, I go investigate. What I found had nothing to do with the dresser, still not sure what the noise was about.

I did, however, find Jonah standing on his bed's footboard - teetering on one foot, really - with a big long stick in his hand. On the end of the stick was a cup that, when exposed to light, will glow in the dark. The cup on the end of the stick was wavering dangerously close to the lightbulb on the ceiling. The light bulb is exposed because the fixture's shade has given up its ghost to a golf ball. Ahem.

So if you know me at all, you know that my first instinct is to grab the stick ("Gimme that!") and shoo the boy off his bed ("Feet go on the floor!"). For some reason, something in me just had to know what was really going on so instead of my usual growl, because trust me, we've been here before, I simply asked Jonah what was going on.

"Son, what's goin' on?"

"Don't worry, Mom. It's aaaall part of my evil plan."

Cross my heart hope to die, he looked me dead in the eye and, as if he were telling me he'd put his shoes away, he assured me that the scene I'd happened upon was indeed no accident, but it was all part of his evil plan. Relax, Mom. Got it covered. Nothing to see here. Please go back to your dishes or whatever it is you do. Melissa, still on the phone, was shouting, "Oh my heck, did he just say "evil plan?" Find out the plan! What's the evil plan?!"

"Uhhhhmm, er, uhhhh, what's your evil plan, son?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

"OK, sooooooo, I put this cup on the end of this big stick, and I knew if I couldn't reach the light from my bed I could get there from the table or maybe my dresser. Sooooooo I stand here and I reeeeeach and try to put this cup on that light bulb. But there's only one problem." (He's got his little finger-gun pointed at me. That's how he points. Finger gun. Cocked a little to the side.)

"There's only one problem? Hm. What's the problem?"

"Yeah. I don't really know how to get the cup back down."

"Son? Would you like me to charge your cup up for you so it will glow?"

Finger gun. "That'd be great."

I took the cup off the stick, charged it, and handed it to the boy who was already under his bed with his sister, waiting for the charged cup. I left the room - with the stick, which is now in Toy Purgatory with the golf ball - and finally let the laughter out.

So what did I learn from this? Well first, I think I'm a little too quick to jump to the "Gimme that stick!" approach. That over-in-an-instant, no-nonsense, how dare you act like a kid approach. How grinchy am I! If I took the time to ask him what's really going on a little more often, instead of just thwarting his evil plans, I might just be shocked and entertained. I don't think I stopped smiling the rest of the day.

And second? Seriously, what is that kid watching on television? Evil plans? Really? Time to unplug.