Nyuk! Nyuk! Nyuk!

It's too bad Mark doesn't have a "Daddy's Supportive, Helpful Deeds and Non-Inflammatory Acts or Remarks" chart, because he would have stars all over the place these days. Once more, he took the kids out this morning, while I went for a run and did some piddling house stuff. I'm not even sure where they went this time. Based on the empty Grande cup I noticed in the car and trainspotting tales from Heath, I would have to guess that it included a visit to the Cotswold Starbucks (the tracks are close by). When it was close to noon, he called me on the phone to see if a pancake brunch sounded like a good idea. It did. So he swung by the house, picked me up and we all headed out to eat an insanely large pile of tasty cakes at Eddie's.

We've had this "Daddy takes the kiddies out in the morning" weekend plan in place for a few weeks now, and it's been great. I feel recharged by Sunday evening, (almost) ready to face a week of epic tantrums, diaper changes, loading small people in and out of car seats, strollers, clothes, bath tubs, wagons, grocery carts, high chairs, swings...

And Mark gets to spend some quality time with Heath and Stella. Tonight while we were having dinner, Mark sighed and said, Monday again, back to work. Heath's big brown eyes welled-up with tears. His lips puckered and quivered. He was truly, deeply saddened that Daddy-time was up. He asked to go to work with Mark. He begged Mark to stay home. And ultimately, he crawled into Mark's lap at the dinner table, put his sweet little head on his shoulder and softly boo-hooed.

Of course this "You rock, Daddy" chart that has all the fire truck stickers and thumbs-up for being a useful member of the Ropko family wouldn't be complete without (at least) one sticker of a frazzled mother, grimacing what has become an all too familiar look of disapproval.

After I put Stella in her room for nap time, I returned to our bedroom and found Heath and Mark snuggled up on the bed under a cozy fleece blanket, Puppy sitting between the two. They were both staring at the television, faint smiles on both their faces. I thought it might be basket ball. Maybe a travel documentary on PBS. Or perhaps Mark put in a Thomas the Train DVD. No. No, it wasn't any of that. It was The Three Stooges. And Heath was loving it.

I immediately cleared my throat loudly; a sign to Mark that was supposed to mean, This isn't really appropriate, I think you should find something else to watch that's more suitable for a three year old. But I don't want to micro-manage out loud, so I will clear my throat and cough until you change the channels.

Then Moe took a mallet to someone's head. Heath cackled. My feigned coughing fit was ignored.

The buffoonery that is The Three Stooges continued. Curly poked Moe in the eye. Heath giggled. (There goes my We don't poke Stella in the eye, it hurts reasoning.) Larry whacks some man over the head with a stick. Heath shrieks with delight. (So much for my Be careful with sticks, you could hurt someone.) A man gets a plate of grapes in the face; total Grape Jam face. Heath explodes with laughter. (We don't throw food at your sister. Oh well.)

Mark finally changed the channel. I don't know if it was my Whooping Cough attack, or if he was looking for a basketball game score. But it was over, except for my lingering worry that Heath might think the physical comedy was real and okay to perform on Stella and friends. I stifled a lecture about the difference between television and real-life.

Heath said, Those guys are scary. I was relieved to hear him say this. Then he started to crack up and said, He got bashed with grapes.