20 February 2011
Seriously, some people just can't take a joke.
Take today, for example. We demolished an enormous Sunday roast in just 23 minutes. The roast potato tally was as follows:
Andy - 4
Me - 5 (to clarify, that was 3 large and 2 little)
Presley - 3
Cash - 2
As we all sat back, stroking our full bellies, I said to the boys:
Mummy and Daddy are going upstairs now for a sleep. Will you two stay down here on your own and be good?
I knew as I was saying this that they wouldn't get the joke. I hastily back-pedalled and said that I was teasing. We weren't really going upstairs, we were all staying downstairs.
Too little too late, Sandy. Too little too late.
Presley's mouth turned down at the corners, then he burst into tears. It wasn't a good joke, but it wasn't that bad!
It reminded me of another mealtime, this time just before Christmas. We were singing 'When Santa got Stuck up the Chimney'. On the fifth rendition Presley's face fell and he started to howl. He had taken the line 'you girls and boys won't get any toys' entirely literally. Poor little man.
I wonder when they begin to understand jokes?
Chicken pox update:
Thank you for all the get well wishes. Cash is a lot better and we can go out now his spots have crusted over. There was a hairy moment early on Thursday morning when he was having trouble breathing. Thanks to a wonderful out of hours GP, who quickly started treating his chest infection, we avoided hospital.
Of course we are now just waiting for Presley's spots to appear...