Imagine this: sitting on the back deck with your significant other at dusk, enjoying the cooling of the evening. Exchanging witty banter back and forth. Out comes a sweet little 6-year old boy, looking innocent. Too innocent.
At this point you meet his gaze and your eyes sweep downward to his hands, or lack there of. They are behind his back. This is not good.
The sweet innocence on his face transforms with a devious grin and narrowed eyes.
Slow motion. The arms draw around to his front. Gripped in his little fist is the orange and yellow barrel of a water gun. Not a little water gun, but one that he has to use two hands to simultaneously pump and shoot.
This is the scene that I was facing the other night.
“You better not!” I squealed.
My husband, faster on the uptake with more battle experience under his belt in water game warfare, jumped to his feet and grabbed the water pistol that was sitting on the patio table.
“No, my cellphone!” I pocketed the device before it could get wet.
Just in time… the stream of water hit my arm and splattered across my chest.
Mr. Gameboy (the sexy husband protecting my honor) pulled the trigger and pumped the barrell rapidly, soaking BoogerFace’s shirt and pants. Water dripped from his brow.
And this is how it started… the fully-clothed water gun fight.
One thing that I have learned living with these two boys is that I have to be prepared at all times for things like this.
This is not the only time, nor will it be the last I’m sure. Sometimes it’s not a water gun. Sometimes it’s the water hose. Or water balloons. Or the water from the bathtub. Or a cup of ice. Or a pair of dirty underwear…
And who would I be not to mention the random wrestling matches as well? Mr. Gameboy and BoogerFace will pounce on one another, trying to use both tact and the art of surprise to overthrow the other. I become the referee… or the tag-team partner… or the wrestling mat…
This is my life!