I’ve been working on something intelligent to say about the strikes in Paris vs. the strikes in Hollywood, the weather, and some things I’ve been reading, but they will all have to wait. It’s 4:00, it’s raining, and my toddler still has no pants on – that’s just the kind of day it’s been. If I weren’t eight (almost) months pregnant, it would be time for a toddy; instead, I’m taking myself out for a cup of tea. Tune in tomorrow.Or maybe Thursday.
In other news, G (pantsless, of course), was negotiating a particularly tight spot between the sofa, my legs, and the coffee table this morning, in order to get to the toy he had shoved between the sofa cushions. After a moment’s contemplation, he decided, finally, to shove the coffee table a few inches backwards and delicately step over my ankles. In the middle of the procedure, he looked up at me, beamed, and said, "Excusez-moi, mommy."
At least one of us is learning French. And I even got the respectful vous. I take it where I can get it, boys.
1 comment:
Eh, pants are highly overrated. Unless you're frying something, and I doubt that your unperturbable parenting extends as far as putting the "short" in "short-order cook."
"Honey, go in the kitchen and fry up some chitlins for your old mama..."
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