So. It appears that John was right. Jack is his boy. Managing mischief was John's number one job when he was a kid, or so he told me whilst dating a few years back now. Last week, I got a glimpse firsthand of what John's parents must have experienced.
One of my piano students brings her little 1 year-old girl to play with Jack during our lesson. I put on a movie for them, they have toys to play with, then I teach in our music room. For the record, these two cute kids typically play very well together. {read: Piper follows Jack around while Jack plays} I should have known that not hearing kids playing was a sign of trouble. Bravely though, I kept teaching thinking to myself that whatever was going on was something I could take care of after the lesson. My student deserves a full uninterrupted lesson, right? Toward the end of the lesson, Jack came around the corner and just stood there, not saying anything but was wearing a look of mischief on his face. Then I noticed that his socks were wet as were his pants up to mid-calf. I told him to run upstairs to take off his wet things and of course, Piper followed. I finished the lesson and ran upstairs to find the kids, who had by this time gone quiet again. I found Jack, still in wet socks, hanging out with Piper in his bedroom. {good thing they are only nursery age!} And. I found water running. Behind a closed door. In the bathroom. Apparently, Jack was drawing himself a bath. I couldn't imagine why he would think he needed one. I was soon to find out. Good thing he doesn't know how to plug the drain. The mind reels at what could have happened.
I brought the safe, and might I add dry, Piper down to her mother and sent them on their way. But so far, I had only a small introduction to the best of Jack's mischief. Something to keep in mind as you read on: Jack managed all this in just a 30 minute lesson. I changed Jack into some dry clothes and we both went downstairs to our half-bath/half-laundry to investigate where his wet socks came from... since they were wet before he went upstairs to start his bathwater.
The downstairs bathroom door was closed, light on. {Sidenote: anytime there is a closed door, sometimes locked, with the light on, Jack-boy is trying to hide something. Always trouble} After opening the door, I found water all over the floor; both rugs, soaked; Puppy on the floor, soaked; no toilet paper on the roll; towels & plunger on the floor; decorative flowers pulled from their stems and floating in the toilet; AND a Jack in my arms with a smile on his face as he explained, "give Puppy a bath!"
Such a proud Mommy. Jack had, of his own volition, tried to give puppy a bath. In the toilet. Using toilet paper as washcloth. Trying to flush the evidence. Overstuffing the evidence thus overflowing the toilet. Using the plunger to unclog said toilet resulting in splashed water, everywhere. Grabbing the towels atop the washer to clean up the mess. Realizing it was a futile effort, Jack then closed the door. An absolutely magnificent mess that will be recounted for years to come. How could I possibly be mad, for long, at such an attempt to be helpful? I placed Jack on the couch and went to work on restoring the bathroom to proper working order. I'm still not sure what he thought he was using the flowers for. Maybe to make Puppy, and by extension Jack himself, smell better? Maybe. But I have a guess as to how his pant legs and his socks got wet. Remember this? Scroll down in that post and you'll have my guess.
And how, you may ask, did I not get a picture of this? No idea. We have 5 cameras about the house and not one of them ended up with an homage to Jack's installation art. But if I did take a picture, and Jack were a little older with smaller teeth and bigger ears, it would look like this:
The end.
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