that's my boy

Last week the man and I were watching Dexter in the theatre with the remote in hand. In case any of the kids walked in.

We needed to be quick on the pause. Youknowwhatimean?

Anyway, Jack came in late in a sleepy stupor acting all strange-like and said he wasn't feeling very well. He wanted a hug. He's 12.

Huh....what??

I know.

So we hugged him and sent him back to bed. Well first we sent him to take an Advil and get a puke bucket. He was exhibiting some strong pre-puke behaviours.

A little while later he came back. He was clearly out of it. He forgot to get an Advil whilst searching for the puke bucket. The man left to get the pill and a gravol. In the mean time Jack said some very strange things. While I laughed. Quietly.

And took a picture.



Me: What's the matter big guy? Are you gonna barf?

Him: I feel bad.

Me: Yeah, like you're gonna barf?

Him: No. I feel bad. Like, I feel like doing something bad.

Me: Huh?

Him: I feel like kicking and screaming and being naughty.

Me: Huh?

Him: I feel like killing satan.

Okay, clearly this child is sleep walking. And talking. Either that or we need to perform some sort of exorcism.

ASAP.

Or the opposite of an exorcism?

I don't know what that is.

The man came back with pills. We medicated and escorted back to bed.

The next morning he remembered none of it and seemed in a mood more conducive to going to church and a lot less conducive to the annihilation of beelzebub.

I'm going to chalk this one up to a mixture of restless leg syndrome, a bad dream, and the altruistic desire to save the world by single handedly eliminating evil.

That's my boy.