The other day, Pop Wilks came over to watch the boys for half an hour while Leah and I took the car in to the shop to be serviced. We arrived home, and Leah turned around and drove off to a meeting. My father scooted out the door quickly too.
I walked into the living room to see Gramma Julia's puppet theater in full dinner production. Apparently, Noah had gone first, Sam second, and now it was Aidan's turn. The problem was that the puppet theater kept falling over. Poor Aidan had straightened out the wing walls, and it had lost its stability. Making matters worse was the laughter of both Sam and Noah every time it happened.
Aidan is our sweet little boy. But like most sweet little boys, when pushed hard enough, they go from 0 to $#%@#$^%@%#^$%^ in less time than it takes to flip a light switch. Well, the puppet theater toppled over one last time.
Noah laughed.
Sam laughed.
Aidan did not laugh.
But neither did he cry or throw a fit. Instead, he calmly stood up from his spot on the rug, walked over to the couch where Sam was sitting and belly laughing at him, and
Ok, I have to tell you, at this point I swear to God on High that everything went into super slow motion.
Aidan drew back his left arm, made a fist, and laid three haymakers into Sammy's head.
I had no idea what to do. Poor Sam couldn't process what had just happened. His face just collapsed into hubba-hubba crying. And Aidan simply stood in front of him looking very satisfied with himself.
With Aidan thoroughly ensconced in the corner, ears ringing from the scolding, I calmed Sam down and said to him, "Sammy, the next time someone tries to hit you, get out of the way."
And Mommy was not informed until the following day.
They are going to break every bone in each other's bodies.
