Somebody needs a punch

As the boys goofed and giggled and thumbed through their art binders tonight (after being repeatedly told to put them away and PLEASE get into bed!) Philo says excitedly, “Dad, you know what we need in this house?”

I can only imagine.

“A three hole punch!” he declares.

Listen folks, it’s late and I’ve been trying to get these beasts into bed for about ten minutes.

Three hole punch. Right.

“Oh yeah – that’d be great,” I say, wearily feigning excitement. “Now let’s GET TO BED!”

Hugh catching and over-interpreting my faked excitement at the prospect of a three-hold punch, closes in and swipes the last word.

His eyes widen into a fixed stare and his mouth draws into an astonished little bow.

“Wait …” he demands wearing a serious gaze …

Wait for it.

“What about a QUADRUPLE punch!?”

Clearly four is better than three.

And apparently hilarious.

They both laugh hysterically.

I express something to myself through teeth, and turn out the light.

Good night moon.
Good night lunacy.

See you tomorrow.

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