Last night, in scandalous fashion, we had breakfast for dinner, which is a low-effort way to please the kiddo while also making sure he gets some solid protein and nutrients from eggs. I made him scrambled eggs and waffles, and served some natural applesauce for good measure. Yes, there were no vegetables on his plate last night, dear lord. He consumed pounds of mushrooms and carrots in the previous week, so I don’t feel too guilty. Anyway, he likes to dip pieces of waffle in honey. We use honey because real maple syrup tastes too strong to him, and trying to find syrup without all sorts of crap in it is near impossible. As I’m trying to relieve a plastic honey-bear of the last bit of honey settled concave in his little upside down head, squeezing him to death, the honey comes out in little blops separated by huge farts of air. Solemnly and seriously, from across the table, Keegan says…
That is the sound my bottom makes sometimes.
Here are some more:
I want to be a policeman when I grow up. No, I want to be a fireman. Oh, [big sigh] I don’t know what I want to be. [You got time.]
That’s okay Mommy. Eric says underpants. [After I apologize for saying a bad word while driving.]
What are you wearing? [Workout clothes.]
Your earrings look like candy. [I was in an 80s mood.]
If you don’t know the names of the children in your class, you can put nametags on them. [Well, my students probably won’t go for that.]
Slow down. You need to lean how to drive. [Said out the car window. Hmmm.]
I will be a super-hero. I’ll be able to get kittens out of trees without even calling the fire department, because I will have super-hero magic to be able to always make a ladder. I’ll be a hero who always has a ladder. So I won’t need to go and get one.
You are so old.