Monday night . . .

my grandson Charlie and his little brother John were here for dinner. Their parents came, too. After dinner, the boys went upstairs while the rest of us sat at the table talking. Before long some noise from upstairs sent their dad running. Then some noise from him sent their mom. I called up and asked, "Is Charlie all right?" but got no answer.

Just as I was about to go up, their mother came down, and she was laughing. Here's the story:

Charlie had "bonked" John, he told his dad, and then, because he knows that bonking John is something he should not do, Charlie put himself in Time Out. On my bed.

Soon he had to use the toilet. But he was in Time Out, and obviously he knows what that means, so he felt that he should not get off my bed for any reason. That is why he had been calling for help, for a parent or someone with authority to come and officially set him free.

His dad arrived a little too late. Charlie had wet my bed.

That is the story, and I felt it should be told. For a few moments I was concerned that someone involved in it, like Charlie maybe, might one day be upset that I had used actual names. I tried initials and found that just annoying. Changing the names didn't seem right either. So there you have it.

As for the incident, I'll leave it to you to analyze for yourself.

For me, it is pure pleasure that I have grandchildren who think this way.