Lego is the Captain’s thing. It’s what he does when we aren’t forcing him to do boring things like eat, wash, and sleep.

For his birthday, he received some Ninjago Lego. Now we have daily conversations about ninjas. Is this weapon cooler than this one? Which is better, the blue ninja or the red ninja? Who do you think would win in this particular spinjitzu battle matchup?

Once while I was doing the dishes, he crept up behind me, ninja-like. “Boo!” he said softly, as he poked me in the back. I jumped about 10 feet in the air.

Most. Hilarious. Thing. Ever.

Since then he’s tried every day, many times a day, to recreate the moment. The problem is that he’s a leadfoot. Without gurgling, running water to cover his approach, he’s unable to pull off the sneak. The floor creaks, his feet thud on the floor; a soft giggle gives him away.

He’s no ninja.

I can fake an endless passion for talking about the Golden Weapons Of Spinjitzu but I can’t fake surprise. He knows when he’s been unsuccessful.

But that doesn’t stop the trying. Every morning when he tiptoes down for breakfast. Every evening when he creeps down in his jammies for a bedtime snack.

“Boo!” he’ll say. “Did I scare you?”

He’s only mildly disappointed when I say no. He is never discouraged. He’ll try his ninja moves again later.

“Mom, want to see my ninja battle? Who do you think will win, the blue ninja or the red ninja?”

This post is part of Brie‘s Monday Moments series – this week’s theme was “surprise.”

9 thoughts on “Ninjago

  1. How about “Which ninja weapon hurts more when you step on it in the dark in bare feet?”

    I can’t wait to start stepping on Pirates of the Caribbean lego… *sigh*

  2. I was about to say “no, it’s Manchego. It’s a cheese. Makes a great soufflé.” Anyone in my family knows if they want to see me jump a foot in the air all they have to do is wait until I’m in the laundry room and then walk in and say anything. I wish they’d all just leave me alone – it’s not like they’re ever coming in to help with the freakin’ laundry or anything, I’m sure they could wait.

  3. I guess we have to admire their persistence since their stealth isn’t worth complimenting. ;+) I’m like you, when I truly am startled, it’s enough of a show that it’s worth trying to reproduce.

  4. My son inherited my stealth skills, which means he rarely scares me when he ‘sneaks’ up on me. We have not been introduced to Ninjago yet – I fear for the long names & small pieces 🙂

  5. OMG, that made me laugh out loud. We are the horrible parents who scare the Dude for a living. Since he was little, we would randomly hide in his room after lights out (one would crawl in as the other read a bedtime story) and then we would wait till the other would leave and either reach up and touch his little arms or legs, or yell Boo! when he thought he was alone in his room. And being as twisted as we are, he loved (loves) it. No bogeymen under his bed. In fact, I would bet that he checks the floor and gets disappointed when we don’t pop up.

    Of course, this silly behaviour has led him to be exactly. the. same. If he can hide and scare us, he will take any opportunity. He usually fails (still working on effective hiding) but I love his spirit.

    Thanks for the giggle!

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