Every now and then, the thought pops in my head that we've finally turned a corner with Rakes. That all the stuff we've had to correct him on is actually sinking in; you don't yell at the top of your lungs whatever is on your mind, knocking Trot down just for kicks and giggles is NOT acceptable, and above all else, we don't talk about our willy at church. EVER. Sometimes the little bugger actually has me believing in this fantasy.
Until stuff like today happens.
As Ang got ready to take the Dynamic Duo for a walk this morning, she found Rakes in the garage in front of the freezer. Shirt off, pants around his ankles, and him about 1.3 seconds away from going #2 on our garage floor.
First off, I have no idea why he has to take his shirt off to do this; he just does. Second, why he couldn't come inside? "I REALLY had to do, Mom". Of course he did.
Why does the image of Bluto from "Animal House" come to mind?
Finally, notice the Inspector Clouseau moustache he drew on himself at church tonight.
Me: "Rakes, did you draw a beard on you like Dad?"
Rakes: "No Dad. Dust a moustache. De dirls like a moustache, Dad."
I need a valium.
On the 97th anniversary of his birth.
1 day ago