I wasn’t sure when we’d ever grow out of the stuffed animal phase, but today confirmed that we’re not even close. For reasons I still don’t understand the little people I live with decided that all of the stuffed animals we own (and trust me, we own more stuffed animals than there are members of the US House of Representatives, but the stuffed animals are considerably more productive and well behaved) needed to be strategically set up on a single couch in our family room. This was a considerable project since the animals are hidden in various parts of the house, and I’m sure they don’t want to be found. But all four kids focused and got the job done (no idea why they can’t do that with the dishes). It looked like Noah’s Ark had exploded in our front room. It was a sight to see.
The problem was that Traci was having some people over for a church meeting thing and they needed the couch, so we quickly grabbed arm-fulls of cotton-filled-creatures and ran them upstairs. Of course my room was selected as the new zoo locale, because I have the biggest bed. We played for a few minutes, but the kids lost interest quickly and I was a guy left on a bed with a few hundred fuzzy animals, many of which I was told didn’t like me much. Tonight we had the kids clean ‘em up so we could actually sleep on our bed. But, and this part is going to come as a massive shocker, they didn’t do a complete job. The Africa section of our mini-zoo was still located in front of our bed – led by a 2-foot-tall grey elephant named Ellie, who is considerably more popular at our house than I am.
Now, every once in a while, and it’s pretty rare, Traci will say something that makes me laugh so hard that my hair starts to regrow. And tonight she did it again. Upon entering the room she glanced around and said, in extreme seriousness:
“Scott, I feel like there’s an elephant in the room.”
No comeback needed.