So we're still on this monkey thing. And my son is really, really attached to his stuffed monkey. To the point of separation anxiety. The other night he tried to bring him along for his bath and a full on meltdown ensued. Crying in the tub is no fun, I mean, you can't even wipe your face. But a soggy monkey is no fun either.
But we're one step ahead. Because, really, we're geniuses, and where other parents fail, my wife and I have taken preemptive steps to ensure that my son will never miss a beat.
We bought a backup monkey.
Yes, I know, so simple. Yet, so cunning. So as Mason, crouches and tracks his prey, licking his chops and patiently biding his time, we've prepared.
What's that old story? About the grasshopper and the tortoise? Or maybe it was a beetle, I don't know, but that's us, we're beetles. And in the meantime I’ve been good about remembering to keep Real Patrick off the floor out of reach of danger, but just in case, we can go to the bullpen.
It was my wife’s quick thinking really. After all, she came home with him.
Women are good about that stuff. But, like all great plans, there are a few kinks to work out. Like for example, #2’s hiding spot. I wasn’t thinking the other day when I slid open Simon’s closet door and he got a good peek at the clone lying in wait. We scurried out of there, and I hoped it didn't mess with his head too bad stuffed Real Patrick into his arms. Hopefully he can just chalk it up to a good milk drunk.
And there may be uh, a few other bumps in the road. Real Patrick smells like kid drool and old bananas, a hint of oatmeal, some yogurt. Maybe a spot of, well you know, sometimes he’s there for a diaper change, but all of that can be arranged.
So there you have it, two very bright parents looking ahead. No hitches in this plan. So if one little monkey falls off the bed....well, you get the idea.