Friday, March 25, 2011


My own personal March Madness seems to be the number of posts I've written in March. I've written a whole lot this month. Unfortunately, Andrew doesn't think I'm being completely fair to the narrative. He says that I do silly things all the time and I never blog about that; I only blog about the silly things that everyone else does.

And that, my friends, is the beauty of being the narrator.

It's called self-preservation.

Andrew says that anyone reading this blog will think that I'm always serious and he's always silly and that our children fluctuate between being monsters and angels. And all of that is true, except that I'm not always serious.

And thus, you get another story, as per Andrew's request. He thinks it's hilarious. I think it is mediocre at best, which is why it probably didn't make it onto the blog yesterday. Well, anyway, here goes nothing:

Yesterday afternoon while Miriam was sleeping, Rachel and I had started a little game of scare-and-seek, which is almost like hide-and-seek, except that instead of merely cowering in a corner, waiting for someone to find you, you hide out with the intention of springing on the seeker when they least expect it. It's terribly entertaining.

Most of our scares had been regular jump-out-from-behind-the-curtain scares and so when I was hiding I concocted a new kind of plan. My plan was as follows:

1. Run into the office.
2. Aim exercise ball at doorway.
3. Call Rachel's name, making my voice sound faraway (however that's accomplished).
4. Just as she's rounding the corner, balance on the ball on my stomach, and shoot out the doorway at her, Superman style.

Four-point plans never fail, and this plan was no exception. It was least as far as I had planned.

What I didn't plan on was Rachel emitting an ear-splitting giggle-scream, which was very satisfying in the short-term, but which woke the baby from her nap. I also didn't plan on having my impressive velocity cause a breeze which caused the door to start closing behind me which caused my shin to connect with the door.

I was left with a skinned and throbbing shin, a prematurely awakened baby, and a hyper preschooler.

In the infamous words of T-Rex on Meet the Robinsons, "I'm just not sure how well this plan was thought through."


  1. 2 thoughts:

    1- I love that movie, and
    2- I love this story. It makes me smile, sitting here on a Friday. :D

  2. Dear Andrew, thank you. You were right and should probably edit Nancy's story selections on a regular basis. :D