hubris [ˈhjuːbrɪs] n

2. (Literary & Literary Critical Terms) an excess of ambition, pride, etc., ultimately causing the transgressor’s ruin

Parents love to share “war stories” about their children, do they not? Well, not so very long ago, a friend of ours told a story about his son which went something like this. Apparently, late one night, Dad was heading upstairs for something when he found his son in the playroom, instead of in bed like he was supposed to be. He saw that his son had opened the lid to the toy chest, presumably to play with something. BUT. Much to his surprise, he also found that his son… was actually peeing into the box! All. Over. The toys. “What are you doing?!?!” Dad asked, in exasperation. “I’m peeing?” answered the son with confusion. It turns out that the boy had been sleepwalking and was relatively unaware of what he was doing… which is the only way this can be funny, really.

And funny it is (when it’s somebody else’s child, that is). I for one laughed and laughed and laughed – the until-big-tears-rolled-down-my-cheeks kinda laughing. Can you even imagine!?!? I mean, seriously. The absurdity of the whole thing! “I’m peeing?” What would you DO if you were in Dad’s shoes? Wake the kid up and make him clean up? Put him back to bed, trash the box, and never speak of it again? Tell all of your friends so they can have a good laugh? Well, yes, clearly that one. But how on earth is the son EVER going to live that down?!?! (You should hear the dad’s story about the Chapstick…)

“MY kid would NEVER do that!!!” I thought to myself… … …

<ahem>

*sigh*

(This is where the hubris part comes in…)

C. U. P.

So. This afternoon I opted to once again nap when the baby napped, in a further attempt to rid myself of this head cold. About an hour in to some rather bizarre dreams about redecorating a bunch of different houses, I was awoken by the sound of a door slamming and my husband telling my son (rather loudly I might add) to go and sit on the naughty step and not move a single muscle. I could hear my husband stomping around, the sound of the water going on in the kitchen sink, and my son stifling his tears on the stairs. “Uh-oh,” I thought to myself. So I sobered my sleepy self up and headed downstairs to see what was going on.

“What happened?” I asked our six-year-old on my way downstairs. “Dad doesn’t want me to move right now,” choked my son sheepishly. So I continued on to the kitchen, where I found my husband rinsing off various pieces of LEGO that had clearly had something spilled on them. Again I inquired about the goings on, to which my husband responded by suggesting that I smell the plastic cup pictured above to figure it out. I’m pretty sure you can see where I’m going with this, based on the previous war story. Suffice to say, I didn’t take him up on that suggestion.

As it is, we have yet to get a clear answer from our son as to exactly HOW such a thing should come to pass. He insists that it happened “last year”, which is impossible due to evaporation and the fact that we would likely have noticed a cup of urine sitting on the shelves before now (by smell if nothing else). But, he never has been really good with the whole week / month / year delineations. When pressed for information, he insists that he’s not sure how it happened, which translates to him being too ashamed / embarrassed to fess up.

My best guess is that last week, when Daddy was out of town and Mommy was preoccupied with the baby, our little boy was downstairs watching something he shouldn’t have been watching on TV or doing something he shouldn’t have been doing (like playing with Daddy’s special LEGO). When nature called, he didn’t want to come upstairs to go to the bathroom because he knew he would have been asked for details on his wayward activities by his Mumma, so he grabbed the nearest container he could find (a LEGO bulk bin cup, to be specific) and, well…yeah. What I really want to know is where he picked up such an idea in the first place, because it’s not like that’s something we’ve EVER done or seen or discussed or whatever.

Wow. What a day. And I always thought the baby was gonna be the trouble-y one. Okay. Your turn. Any “war stories” you’d care to share? C’mon, I could really use a good laugh right about now.