To my dear, sweet, middle child,
I love your spirit, your sense of fun, and your curiosity. Some day those qualities will serve you well. Like if you live in a frat house, for example. Some ancient, ramshackle frat house with ancient ramshackle plumbing at some mid-level state university somewhere would be the perfect place to
A less appropriate place to play with water is in the upstairs bathroom of our house while you are supposed to be asleep. Because when I am downstairs with my game night friends, what I want to hear is stories about children, husbands, family size plans, wild things we did in college, and things you can do with a crockpot. Not dripping water. And then DRIPPING WATER. And then the sound of a small waterfall coming out of an HVAC duct, soaking through the kitchen rug, and pooling on the floor.
Ironically, my love, we had just discussed white noise machines and then all of the sudden there was a real live Amazon Waterfall right there in my very own kitchen. Your timing is impeccable.
But when, after I summon Papa to the kitchen with a tone of voice so alarming that he comes flying down the stairs two at a time, and after surveying the scene he immediately runs back up the stairs, three at a time, to find the source of the water, he finds you sitting in your bed with wet socks? He's going to know who it was who plugged the sink, shoved a crayon in the drain, cranked the faucet up to full blast, then calmly closed the door and went back to bed like nothing had ever happened.
So, dear, sweet child-of-mine, I hope "new carpet pad" and "mold abatement" were on your Christmas list. Because I have a feeling that that is just what Santa had in mind for you.
Ho, ho, ho,