Who’s Under Your Blanket?
Bedtime for two little kids can be a hectic time, so it’s easy to get lost in the shuffle and that’s exactly what I did.
The boy went down first without any protest, mostly because he loves to sleep, just like his sperm donor, me. The next thing on the agenda was potty time for our daughter. This is where I faded away unnoticed.
Mommy and Daughter discussed the day’s happenings during the latter’s (hopefully) last urine evacuation of her waking hours. It’s great to eavesdrop on these conversations because I get to know what goes on in the XX chromosome mind… or at least hear if my daughter’s talking about me.
Hiding in my daughter’s bedroom has become an occasional bedtime ritual for us. I actually scared the living crap out of her a few months ago by hiding too well under the covers along the side of the wall. The worst part was the scary noise I made when I presented myself. I felt shame almost immediately and vowed not to do that again, so now the hiding spots are pretty much obvious. You know, like sitting on the bed with something blocking my face or standing with my back against the wall waiting for my punishment to come a la The Blair Witch Project, or my most common one, hiding under the blanket on the closest side of the bed. This was what I chose this time with a little twist.
My wife and the victim of the prank, the prankee, walked merrily toward the bedroom. I heard the usual, “where’s Daddy?” with a giggle. That’s when I almost blew it because my wife heard me snickering from our bedroom. She walked behind my daughter because she always wants to be the leader and my wife peaked her head in on me and smiled. Luckily, I married an intelligent woman because she comprehended what I was doing immediately and played along greatly.
I have to give her credit for the idea because I unexpectedly found the same thing in my bed a while back, and she told me it was just a joke on me and not some off-the-wall kinky thing and I believe her… I think.
“Is Daddy hiding?”
“I think so.”
My daughter peeled away the blankets one by one with enthusiasm. That’s when I heard a laugh so loud and long that I could only compare it to what I must sound like when I’m on a really good roller coaster or I’m watching The Office or The Facts of Life. That Tootie’s a card.
I swaggered into her bedroom and smiled at my still-laughing little angel and asked who was in her bed. She giggled, “Our doggy was in my bed.” Our oldest boy performed his role as good as any of the seventy-two Lassies and much better than that pompous ass, Benji. He must’v known he had only one take to pull it off because he didn’t make a sound or move a muscle.
My daughter’s plastered smile was still there when we shut off her light and I expect that she laughed herself to sleep. I know I did.