Saturday, December 5, 2015
"Mom, did you do this? Did you move him? Did you draw this?"
"I know you did. Or Dad did. Is it real? Just tell me. It looks like your drawing. I bet you did it. But did you? Did you?"
"Just tell me! Fine, ok, don't. Just tell me when I'm, like, 25. Then you can tell me. I just know you did! It just makes sense. You moved him last night. And you drew this."
"That looks like your drawing! It's so, like, obvious that you did this. He's not real, I know he's not real. Parents move him."
"And besides, it just doesn't make sense. He can't even move or talk. I know you did this! Everyone at school says Santa isn't real and you know what? You know what? I kind of believe them. They all say so."
"Fine, just don't tell me. Just tell me when I'm an adult. Then I can move him and my kids won't know. Okay? Okay?"
This, from my eight year old son. The one who made reading to him virtually impossible. The one who has sustained (with all the ferocity his miniature man body can muster) the friendly-exchange-of-fire type of dialogue he mastered as a toddler.
If the elf makes it to Christmas, it truly will be a miracle.
I've been reading up on toddlers in hopes of better understanding my soon-to-be three year old, Cameron. He's our third son, but he&...
Toddlers mispronounce words. It's just what they do, and it's what makes the toddler years so darn cute. "Lello" for &...
I’m finally back from the David Gray concert in New York City. Yes, that was Saturday night and today is Tuesday, but I fell so in love with...
At least I can admit that I'm emotionally immature, juvenile and unsupportive. Subtitle: Chuck could have done betterTry as I might, I cannot stop fantasizing about Chuck being creamed by a Mack truck (I know, poor Chuck, you must think I am the wife from...