My boy, Oliver...I might have mentioned him before a couple of times. You see, he's got this one little problem.
He's a goof.
Not the clumsy kind (though he does get the drunk walks when he's tired), it's the goof on purpose kind. At 15 months he's already got a sense of humour (I fear closer to his Mother's odd-ball stylings then his father's traditional).
Exhibit A - He laughs if I laugh. Hysterically.
On this particular night Bo was working late (London again, I believe, but it was a month ago now and my memory struggles to go back any further then the breakfast I didn't eat but wish I had. Wouldn't waffles have been great today?).
Any way, back on topic. Oliver and I decided to have meatballs for dinner. When his face was adiquatly covered in sauce, and his mouth full of meatball, I decided to do a goose honk of a laugh, as loud as I could, and 6 inches from his face.
My goose honk made Oliver do this.
Then he gave me this look.
Then he started laughing.
It all pretty much went down hill from here. Oliver laughed, which made me laugh, which made Oliver laugh. We laughed until he got the hick-ups, then he glared at me (for giving him the hick-ups), then I grabbed his foot and he laughed again.
Yeah, our house is pretty much full of laughter.
And goose honks.