Driving in the rain is wretched. Especially at night. Not only can one’s eyes have considerable trouble locating the yellow line in all of that shiny wetness, but a lot of the other drivers on the road operate their vehicles like they’re in the movie Speed and cannot drive below sixty-five mph. Or whatever it was.
When will the guy in the passing lane learn that if he crashes his car it will take him so much longer to get to his destination if he has to take a detour to the hospital first? Lord help him if he causes any harm to come to either of my children as a result of his idiotic driving. Mommies can be pretty scary when it comes to protecting their young; they become possessed with a super-human strength that enables them to leap tall buildings in a single bound and bend steel with their bare hands.
My son has learned how to turn on the Christmas tree lights. He probably saw me do it one time. It has become the first order of his day: wake up, go downstairs, turn on the Christmas tree lights. That is why his bedroom doorway is gated at night. At least when the little man was in our bed we always knew what he was up to. We knew that he was not rummaging through the refrigerator; we also knew that he wasn’t playing John the Baptist and baptizing his reading materials in the toilet water.
I have often wondered what babies dream about. Shortly after birth an infant can be observed to be smiling while asleep. My two year old must have been dreaming about fried food yesterday because not long after having lunch with my one of my sisters at a local Red Robin where there is never a shortage of steak fries he awoke partially from his nap to say, “French fries?” in that slurry dream speech.
Kids are weird. One never knows what will spew forth from the mouth of a child. My son started calling my sister’s cat “Uncle Bella.” Not just “Bella” or “Bella kitty.” No. He refers to the feline as his uncle. Maybe it was the grease from all of those steak fries talking.
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3 years ago