By the time I get home from work, the kids have usually worked off all the “what crazy thing should we do now” energy, and are mostly content to sit and watch cartoons on Netflix (incidentally, after catching them watching “The Cleveland Show,” parental controls have been turned on). So, most of my “you can’t make this shit up” stories are relayed to me by BelovedSpouse. Here’s one from a few days ago.
MiddleOne and YoungestOne headed upstairs to play. A little while later, BelovedSpouse went to see what was going on. He caught MiddleOne and YoungestOne on the top bunk bed, playing “Flying Stuffed Animals” game. The game involves leaning out over the rails, putting a toy on the fan blade, and then spinning the fan. Voila, instant flying stuffed animals. We are still amazed we did not also have “instant children screaming because they just fell off the top of the bunk bed, head first.”
Much to their disappointment, they are no longer allowed to play the “flying animals” game.