Lobster

This story is a blast from the past, but It doesn't seem like I ever blogged about it.

Beckett came downstairs when he was supposed to be sleeping.  He was crying.  I asked him what was wrong, and he told me that there was a lobster in his bed.  I said, "A lobster?  In your bed?!"  He said, "Yes!  It was a gray lobster with a hand that does this (he opened and closed his hand like a lobster claw)."  So, I took the stuffed animals and the blanket off of his bed to look for the alleged lobster.  There was nothing in his bed.  He looked up at me, still very concerned, and asked, "Did Daddy take the lobster to the trash?!"  I said, "Yes, buddy, he did.  The lobster is gone."