Learning to Fly

Danger Monkey, age 7, jumps from his bed, squawking and flailing his arms. He crumples into a snickering pile on the floor.

Me: “Are you OK?”

DM: “I’m a baby bird, just learning to fly.”

Little does he know… He really is. (Sniff)

That really flopped

Danger Monkey, age 7, tumbles past me, flopping on the floor, repeatedly, across the room.

Me: “What are you doing?”

DM: “Rolling.”

(Slow blink)

Me: “Carry on.”

Me: (whispering) “Hey, kids… I have a secret. We’re going to watch a movie while Mom goes out tonight with her friends. Don’t tell Mom!”

My Wonderful Wife (from other room): “What did you say?”

Danger Monkey, age 7: “He didn’t say anything and it had nothing to do with movies!”

NOTE: Not the best liar. And I’m OK with that.