The making of a commercial

Making of a commercialCrazy stuff happens when Superdad is at the office. This morning CJ, acting on my advice, decided to enlist MC as an actor for a commercial she would like to produce.  So in the first scene CJ directed MC to run.  MC ran very dramatically kicking his heels all the way to his bum and in his excitement managed to kick himself a bit harder than planned.  He spent the next 15 minutes walking around rubbing his bruised bum telling Mrs. SuperDad to take him to the hospital and blaming CJ because he was only doing what she told him to do.  CJ finally gave up and moved on.  End scene.

A few minutes later the sounds of a very loud electronic bird, CJ yelling, Pingu blaring from the iPad, and AC yelling “just a minute” were cause for Mrs. SuperDad to investigate.  Upon passing the stairs,  MC appeared on the landing looking guilty and pretending to have lost his arm (it was tucked inside his shirt). Mrs. SuperDad stopped in her tracks and summoned MC the rest of the way down the stairs.  It was a very short conversation:

 

Mrs. SD: “MC, what is on your face?”

MC:  “Blood.”  (He pulls the missing ‘bloody’ arm out of his shirt)

Mrs. SD: (Noticing he also has ‘blood’ on his chest)  “What do you mean blood?”

MC: “I like blood.”

Mrs. SD: (*crickets chirping*) “Is that washable marker?”

MC: “Yes.”

Mrs. SD: “Carry on. Just take a bath and wash it off when you’re done.”

Based on this report from Mrs. SuperDad I’m getting the not so subtle hint that putting all the video games away (see “Video Games Be Gone” post) has unleashed a tidal wave of creative energy that can sometimes be destructive. I’m a little bit concerned about MC’s fascination with the blood and willingness to follow his siblings’ direction given AC’s recent exposure to the flying guillotine (see “Be careful what you watch post”).  I better go check medical insurance and make sure there is no exclusion clause for injuries by flying guillotine or self-inflicted bum injuries.

On the other hand, Mrs. Superdad thinks I’m looking at it all wrong. Her suggestion is that we buy MC a case of squibs, a helmet, and let him grow beyond his sister’s commercials to be the stunt man he is so clearly destined to be.

Maybe she’s right, but I’m still checking the insurance policy.

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