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Tuesday, April 23, 2013


Conversation with Charlie today:

Me:  Charlie, was that a ROCK that just fell out of your nose?

Charlie:  Yes.

Me:  What the...Charlie, rocks don't belong in your nose.

Charlie (genuinely surprised):  No?  Rocks don't go in my nose?

Me:  No Charlie.  Rocks go on the floor.  Or your hands; you can hold them in your hands.

Charlie:  No rocks in my nose?  Rocks don't belong in my nose? Or my mouth?

Me:  No rocks in your nose or your mouth.  Or your ears for that matter.

Charlie:  Rocks go on the floor or your hands ONLY.  Not your ears.  Not your nose.  Not your mouth.

Me:  That's right.

Charlie:  OK, Mama.

Notice how when she is doing something she isn't supposed to she calls me Mama, not Mom?  Children sure do have a knack for doing shit like that.  It is probably some kind of defense bred into them through generations of survival of the fittest.  Otherwise human parents would be abandoning their young left and right.

Really, Charlie?  A fucking rock?  I thought it was bad enough when you climbed on the stove to eat Alexis's birthday cake.  Or when you decided to learn to crawl up the stairs before you walked.  Or when you charmed the socks off of my OB during your C-section when the first thing he saw when he cut into my uterus was you making a kissy face at him.  You were all duck face before it became a popular Facebook meme.

I sure hope that means that you will be a good leader, like presidential material, vs a bad leader like Branch Davidian cult leader.  Honestly, some days it is only that hope that keeps me plugging away with you.

Glad I could clear up the confusion regarding the proper placement of rocks for you, though...

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