This morning the little guy was watching “A Snoodle’s Tale” and decided that it would be fun to try his hands at flying. He would stand on the second or third step and flap his hands (not arms) furiously as he leapt from the stair. Over and over again he tried to obtain liftoff from his platform.
Anytime he sensed me coming to remove him from the area he would take me by the hand and lead me into the living where he wanted me to sit and watch his video, or he would push me in the tush and command me to go into the kitchen. His next experiment was to launch himself from the arm of the couch, to which I put an immediate stop.
One of the neat tricks his Daddy has taught him is to make his food talk. My food is just ordinary and plain and has never talked to me, nor have I ever been under the impression that it has any desire to do anything other than be eaten. There must be some charm in my son’s hands, however, because as soon as I handed him a piece of sweet bologna torn from my sandwich it immediately morphed into a whale and began to sing “Figaro”, like Willie the Whale in “The Whale Who Wanted to Sing at the Met”.
I would like to leave you with one of my husband’s famous quotes. I am in the process of compiling these in an attempt to bring joy and laughter to the world. Please, feel free to astound and amaze your loved ones with the profundity of the statement: “I didn’t forget; I just didn’t remember.”
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