A rainy, cold spring Sunday. Mom, Dad, boys all together in the playroom. The Bouncy House has been inflated for the first time in almost two years — finally freed from its moving box prison. PGA tournament on in the background. Laughter, rough-housing, giggle fits, rosy-cheeked boys and lots and lots of jumping in the foreground.
Then.
Little Brother (from inside the House): Oh. Ahsuemay!
Big Brother: What did you say?
Little Brother: I say’d Ahsuemay! Ahsuemay, Mommy.
Me: What’s that, J.?
Little Brother (frustrated). Yells out from Bouncy House door.
Ahsuemay, I say’d!
I tooted!
Me (laughing): Oh! You’re excused.
Confessions of a Serial Swooper 