Butt Head

So I'm putting kids down last night reading books, brushing teeth, saying prayers and the like when for no apparent reason Mackay head butts me in the chest...8 times.  So after a while I gently remind the cub who is the lion and I head butt him, on the head.  He falls to the ground writhing in pain. "Dad it really hurts! I think I have a concussion (he doesn't even know what that is but we've watched a lot of NFL lately), my brain can't take it anymore!"

I told him to rub a little dirt on it and then we got up and went to appropriate rooms.  But before Brig would actually go down for the night he had to run into Mackay's room and tell him how to spell 'head butt'.

"H-E-A-D-B-U-T-T!  You know, like your butt!"  And then repeated again just incase your resident 5 year old didn't pick up on the potty talk the first time around.  As if.

I laid down with Mackay in his bed to get him to calm down for the night but he was still figuratively and literally sore about that bonk to the noggin.

"Dad that really hurt.  You hit me right on the head and that could really hurt my brain.  Like really hurt it.  I could die! I can't think any more to even put together a sentence. I can't remember anything anymore.  Like I can't remember what things are.  Like I can't remember three things.  I can't remember what a wall is (as he looked at one) or I can't remember what a toy is (as he looked at another one).  Or I can't remember what my name is." 

"That's a wall right there.  I'm sure you'll figure the toys out and your name is Mackay.  I think you'll be alright."

"Dad you don't understand, I may never be ok from this."

I'm thinking day-time soap opera star or if he serves a mission in South America he may even aspire to Novelas.

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This morning Michelle and I lay in bed imagining what the intermittent crashing noises were down stairs and what the little monsters were breaking while we shirked our parental duties.  When sort of out of the blue David climbs the stairs, opens the doors and yells, "Dummy mommy!"  And slams the door in a huff.  

It was so brash we couldn't help but giggle.  "How many more times do you think he'll come back in and say, 'dummy mommy' before he gives up?" Michelle asks.

The answer is four.  Four times that kids came in and scowled at us comfortably in bed.  And it just got funnier each time. "Dummy Mommy!"  On the last one we laughed so hard I think we cried.

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So later on in the day we go to church.  In Sacrament Meeting we came to one of those reflective quiet parts that last 20 seconds or so.  Absolute silence.  David is laying on the ground when he looks up at his mother and says in a decibel or two short of a yell, "DUMMY MOMMY!"

He went on time out when everyone in the chapel finally stopped laughing.