A prolific speaker since his second birthday, my son has
come up with some doozies in his short lifetime. In the past week, he has come up with some absolute classics so I
am dedicating today’s entry to my son. His “isms” are better than any material that I could come up with today.
Son (from the bathroom): Mommy, could you please come in
here. I need some help.
Me: (surprised—he’s normally pretty
self-sufficient in there): What do
Son: I need help wiping. I
have a little quesadilla.
Son (from his
car seat on the way to soccer registration): How do you know how
to get to the soccer field?
Me: Because I’m a genius.
Son: Oh. When will I play
my first game?
Me: I don’t know.
Son: I thought you were a genius.
Son (on the
phone with my Mom after a traumatic buzz cut by your’s truly): You
should see my hair Grandma. I’m blind. Pause. Because my Mom
cut all of my hair off. I’m blind. I have no hair.
Me: Sweetie, you’re not blind. You’re bald.
Please forgive the Family Circus-esque genre of today’s blog
entry. It’s not my style, I know, but I