Apparently my children have completely inherited “MY” perfectly timed, random sense of humor. The usual morning wrestle romp in Mom’s bed (complete with pinned hugs and tickles from Mom) resulted in this…
I’ve got a bear hold on my youngest, who is yelling out to his brother.
CONOR: “Evan! Help! Get. Me. Outa. Here!”
Conor reaches his arms out as Evan walks to the side of the bed. He grabs Conor’s arms and tries to pull him from my grip… (Ha! USELESS!)
CONOR: “Aaaaaaaaaahhhhh, it hurts!”
EVAN: “Well, you wanted freedom. Freedom Hurts!”