I was awakened this morning at 6:15 am by this unwelcome alarm clock:
"MOM. DAD. We have an EMERGENCY here."
"What kind of emergency," I asked, not panicked or anxious to leave my warm bed because to my boys, an emergency that early in the morning usually means a lost toy or a missing Nintendo game or a pillow misplacement.
Then, before the fog in my brain even thought of climbing from its comfy slumber, Luke was at my bedside. Looking at him in the darkness, I could see that he was covered with something. It was on his head, face, clothes, arms, and legs. Was that blood? O.K. Now I was awake. Maybe the boys understood the word emergency after all.
I turned on my bedside lamp and looked at Luke in the light. There was my boy, perfectly normal with no sign of blood or injury. I turned the light off. There it was again - the "blood" covering my boy from head to toe. On, off, on, off.
Yes, people, my son was glowing. He had gone to bed the night before with a glow stick and, fiddling with it in the morning, caused it to explode and leak the juice all over his body.
I guess I should have realized sooner that the substance covering Luke wasn't blood. Blood doesn't glow. And it's not hot pink.
Behold, The Unicorn Frappuccino
1 week ago