Not even "my little moogy"?

Ian and I are leaving the Chik-fil-A and getting into the car.

Ian: Mom, I don't want you to call me any more names.

Me: (raching my brain to recall a way I've insulted him)........names?

Ian: Right. From now on, I just want you to call me Ian, or Miller, or Mitchell, or Henning.

Me: Aw, okay.

Ian: or Child. Child is okay.

Me: How about Son? Is Son okay?

Ian: Son would be okay.

Me: How about Sweetie Bear?

Ian: no.

Me: Cookie Puss?

Ian: NO.

Me: Noodle? Widdle Pooky?

Ian: NO!

Me: Cutie Booty? Nu Nu Boo Boo?

Ian; MOM!!!

Me: okay, okay, fine. Ian it is.



Ian: Sweetie's okay too.

And then 3 years passed.

Ian: You are mean. No - you are crazy. Crazy!
me: Hey, dude. You remember how, last night, Daddy reminded me not to call people crazy? Because it was not a good word to say? Well, he was totally right. We're not going to call people that, okay? You remind me and I'll remind you.
Ian (mutters) you're crazy.
Me: What does that even mean? What does "crazy" mean, Ian?
Ian: (very emphatically) It means when you are not awesome.

Nice Try

Me: You were so good at the doctor's office!
Ian: You were right. He is a really dood [that's how Ian says 'good' -ed.] doctor.
Me: What should we have for lunch?
Ian: Ummmmm...Cheeburger Cheeburger!
[regional chain lunch counter - there's one near church.]
Me: That's a pretty good idea.
Ian: Wait, how about..............Lollipop Lollipop??!
Me: Wow! I don't know where there's one of those!
Ian: (sighs, looks out window.) They're all far, far away.

I promised that, the next time we had a cork to screw, I'd show him how it worked.

Ian is obsessed with the corkscrew.

He was being Mr. Crabass this afternoon, and I suggested a picnic to jolly him up. We ended up sitting on a blanket the deck, eating grapes, cheese, and Girl Scout cookies, helping dinosaurs climb the Eiffel Tower. It was quite relaxing.

I opened some sparkling apple juice (Ian wanted soda, which was not going to happen, but this compromise allowed me to sit around under the beautiful blue sky and gaze at buds and hold a wineglass and kind of kid myself that I was drinking wine.)

But we needed a bottle opener to open the cap on the apple juice, and the first one I could find was on the big corkscrew. Which looks like a person, and airplane, and, not surprisingly, a dinosaur.

No preschoolers or Mommies were harmed in the eating of the picnic.

We had to explain to Ian that, while the Easter Bunny comes to most kids houses during the night, she visits minister's kids in time for dinner.

The Lord is risen indeed. I have tonsilitis.

closed for the moment:

Thanks for stopping by. Right now all the action's over at www.funkyfatgirl.com, where I have already failed the NaBloPoMo Challenge but am still concentrating in efforts.

Such as they are.