You may have noticed a Michael Jackson theme lately.
Not because I have a particular penchant for his multicoloured freakiness, rather Boo does.
Thriller on freaking loop. All. The. Time.
I find myself zombie dancing while brushing my teeth. Waiting in line at the supermarket is interesting, but throw a little leg sliding action in and you are first in line baby. Try it. You are welcome.
Remember when he had that fascination with zombies? And that morphed into murderous sweet potatoes? Well terror has another guise and it may even give me nightmares.
But before I subject you to something more horrifying than a mummified sweet potato (yep. The bastard is still there and he is STILL CHECKING) I need to give you a little back story.
Over the last few months a particular stim has been getting steadily worse. To the point that it is annoying the living fuck out of everyone in the house. Including the bunneh.
You see, when a particular door is opened – no other, just this one, oh and car doors – he has to whoosh out ‘something’. It was fine when that is all it was. But it has developed into a full blown 10 minute routine complete with slamming the door repeatedly, pretend very loud explosions, running around to explode every corner of the house and then chanting incessantly.
The door in question leads to the backyard.
The door in question is going to be opened a bajillion times tomorrow when the party gets into full swing.
That is a shit load of explosions and running and freaking the fuck out.
So today I embarked on extinguishing this particular behaivour. Or in layman’s terms bribing him.
I tried redirecting, sleight of hand, yelling, chasing, tackling him. To no avail. So I brought out the big guns.
He wants him bad.
We sat down and talked about the situation (well as best as you can talk to Boo) trying to find out what was scaring him. Moo and her friend A wandered in to give me a hand in desiphering Boo speak.
Was it zombies? No reaction.
Was it vampires? No reaction.
Was it werewolves? No reaction.
‘Robots are pretend’ offers Boo. Awesome. We talk about how cool it would be for a robot to be able to do the housework and cook the meals, but sadly they are pretend. Except for the Roomba. Mummy will give Santa a little somethin’ somethin’ for one of them under the tree… ya feeling me Santa???
Turns out it wasn’t the robots.
Moo and I discuss Boo’s current obsessions while he stares off into space reciting his favourite YouTube clip of the moment. Rugrats, the one where Stu is sleepwalking and cracking eggs on the floor. Lets hope he doesn’t recreate it. Best put the eggs with the sweet potato just to be safe.
‘So do you think it has anything to do with Thriller?’
‘Dunno, is he watching any other Michael Jackson?’
The kid goes nuts. Explosions, squeals, yelps, kissing his freaking ARMS.
Again with the exploding child.
Seems zombies, vampires, werewolves and robots are no way NEAR as scary as a gender unspecified, race ambiguous, mask wearing ‘He who must not be named’
We roll around the floor laughing. Boo is all ‘What is so funny?’
We are tempted to say it again. But we control ourselves.
But fuck, if you could only see this kids reaction.
He thinks Michael Jackson is gunna wander into the house and go all Moon Walk on his arse. I can see his point.
So after much discussion, I bring out the big guns and tell him that if he keeps to his promise of no more incessant banging of the doors, no more squealing and only localised terrorist bombings when the door is opened or closed I will buy him Elmo next Saturday.
He tantrumed for a while until he could fully process the information. He tested a couple of times. But he is trying. And that is awesome.
Moo suggested we put a sign on the door:
My sides are still hurting.
What have your kids/siblings/you been afraid of that beats Sir Unmentionable and the rotting corpse of a root vegetable?