So, John just came up to me crying over something that I couldn’t really understand, and when I picked him up to comfort him, he said, “Can I have a rootbeer and a snack after I finish jumping on your bed?”
Um, what do I say to that? “Have you been jumping on my bed?” I just bought a new microsuede comforter so my bed looks all comfy and nice and most importantly, there are no rips, stains or crumbs on my bedspread–yet.
“We had to bunch under the covers,” he says to me.
Well, who could argue with that?
About the snacking thing, this kid is all about the breakfast. This morning so far, he’s had a bowl of cereal and a cup of milk, then had a yogurt (when someone mentioned yogurt for their lunch), then had a piece of toast and a drink of lemonaid (when someone else was having a piece of toast). When I look on the table, I see his lovingly made piece of toast still there, with one tiny bite taken out of it. ERg. So, when not 20 minutes later he asks for a piece of peanut butter toast, I sadly have to tell him no. There will be no more breakfast for you, my boy. At least not until I’ve finished cleaning up the dishes from the first round.