Normally on school mornings, the Bomber putters around upstairs playing with stuff in his room, begging me to blow down the back of his shirt with my hairdryer and harassing the cat, before finally giving in and getting himself dressed for school. This morning, though, he got himself together pretty quickly, and had about 20 minutes to go before we had to leave. He announced he was going to downstairs to play, and for a few minutes I heard the sounds of a traffic jam involving all of the various trucks, buses, cars and possibly a space shuttle or two (and boy does THAT snarl traffic up but good) developing in the living room.
As I finished getting dressed and headed downstairs myself, I realized that I hadn't heard either the traffic jam or the traffic master for at least 10 minutes, and I started to wonder exactly what mischief the Bomber might have gotten up to during that time. It was with some trepidation that I entered the darkened kitchen to discover....
the H-bomb, standing on a step-stool in front of the kitchen sink, wearing rubber gloves, and doing the dishes.
He'd done a pretty good job, too. He'd plugged the sink, filled it with hot water, squirted some soap in, and had washed a few things with the sponge. Unfortunately, his efforts were stymied by the fact that the drying rack was already chock full of yesterday's dishes, since we got home late-ish last night and didn't bother putting them away. He was pretty bummed he didn't get to finish up and surprise me with clean dishes, but I promised him he could finish up when we got home this afternoon.
Because I'm generous like that...
And now, a completely gratuitous picture of the kiddo at his preschool's Black History Month program last night, which was both awesome and hilarious. More on that to come.
Comments