fuss: how not to tell a lie

Fiend & Auntie Burl came over for dinner last night after a long, energetic day.
After the meal we played one of his favorite games, instigated by Fuss coming up, forming a claw with one mitt and demanding "Dada, you be the Monster Hand!" The original form was me lying on the bed and being buried in blankets and pillows by Fuss & Fiend, then sticking out one frozen hand which they would fearfully creep toward and eventually touch triggering an attempt to grab the brave interloper.

Over the course of a few months it has, of course, evolved- now touching the monster's hand is just a preamble to a sort of Monster Olympics.  I'll do a full post on that eventually, but suffice it to say we all did a lot of running around & squealing in terror before eventually pooping out on the couch together to watch a show while the gals chatted in the bedroom.

Shortly thereafter I noticed Fuss was actually laying on me, resting his head and the whole deal. He's a loving boy but bestows physical affection in hummingbird fashion, darting in for a millisecond of contact before zipping away again.  Any sort of prolonged contact is a certain sign of total exhaustion.

I asked Fiend to check the time- 9:30, well past his bedtime even on a normal day.
My announcement went about as well as you imagine- the only thing he hates more than going to sleep is going to sleep when Cousin Fiend is around.  Plus, we hadn't done our evening ritual of playing Bird Game after his bath.  I could tell that was going to be a sticking point, so in the interest of getting him settled without a Chernobylesque meltdown I made a deal- if he went to bed quietly, I'd let him play Bird Game in the morning after breakfast.  After some minor crying and back and forth, he agreed.

Cut to this morning.
He toddles down the hall while I'm packing books and states brightly "Dada, remember last night you said BIRD GAME in the morning?"
"Right, we made a deal- you can play Bird Game as soon as you finish your breakfast."

We agreed on two pieces of toast, with jam, no crusts, cut into little squares.  I made him a plate, set it on his little table and went back to my packing.

After a bit he came over and said "Okay, I'm all done with my toast, time for Bird Game," then after a short pause added sotto voce, "...just don't look in the trash."



Sigh.