So the other night Adam was working late in our room…and I was fast asleep by 8:30 p.m. or something crazy like that. At one point I said in my sleep, “Fulton, get out of there.” I remember I was dreaming that he was playing in the compost we’d just laid out. Adam of course started laughing at me. Since that night I have been keenly aware everytime we say, “Fulton, get out of there!”
Just before deciding whether to write this blog, for example, I looked over my shoulder down the hall to the bathroom to see our Curious George, playing with the attachements inside the little potty chair. “Fulton, get out of there!!!!!”
Of course other than the potty seat and the toilets, there’s those time he’s trampling through the freshly watered garden, “Fulton, get out of there!” Or the times he’s reaching for the dishes in the open dishwasher, “Fulton, get out of there.” Or maybe the times, his curiosity and little body takes him to the power strip behind the TV or computer, “Fulton, get out there.” Or when his sister just doesn’t want to be followed to the bathroom while she goes potty, “Fulton, get out there.” Or when he’s starting to climb the baptismal font that church, “Fulton, get out of there.” And my favorite, when he’s following people into the confessional, “Fulton, get out of there!!”
I’ve never been the master at “redirection,” but something tells me that I better learn fast for Fulton’s first words are going to be, “Get out of there.”
(And reheated Rudy’s doesn’t count!)
