"Has Mommy fed you supper?"
Dearest one has a mischevious look on his face
even though I start glaring at him.
He knows them's fighting words.
I look from dearest one to the Puglies.
Between slightly clenched teeth I say,
That was about two weeks ago.
Since then dearest one has kept talking to the dogs
as if I'm their Mommy.
Not every day, God help him,
but once in a while.
Kind of like a kid who finds
what gets under someone else's skin
and then capitalizes on it,
just for fun.
Or just to hear me hiss the word "Don't".
So last night I crawl into bed.
The Pugs do, too.
They happily sprawl out on dearest one's side of the bed.
A few minutes later dearest one comes into the bedroom.
He likes the side of the bed that's right up against the wall.
To get there he has to be kind of acrobatic.
I know I could've just got out of bed
and made it easy but I bet, after all is said and done,
he's really happy I didn't.
He looks at the situation,
trying to figure out how to get into bed,
without stepping on the dogs.
I think to myself,
"Get out of the way so that your Dad can get into bed."
I start giggling.
Dearest one, still standing on the floor,
asks me what's so funny.
I tell him what I just thought.
We both shriek with laughter 'til our bellies hurt.
The Pugs look at us
and silently hightail it
to the far end of the bed.