I was in the shower when my little guy woke up this morning with exciting news. As I poked my head around the shower curtain to listen, this is what he had to say.
“Mama I want to tell you two things.
One, I had a big boogie sticking out of my nose and I picked it out of there.
And two, I was coughing and then I burped at the same time. It felt quite good.”
Ahhh, such is life with a little boy. . . I wouldn’t trade it.
My son and I have had this drainage, coughy gunk that apparently is going around right now, where you don’t really feel sick but you sure sound like you could cough up a lung. . . or three.
So my son was having a coughing fit one morning that sounded really wet, and I asked him if he managed to get up anything.
He said, “Yeah, like snot?”
Yup that’s it. I promptly told him that he didn’t need to swallow said snot but spit it out instead.
And he responded, “No thanks. I like the way it tastes.”
Ewww. . . out of the mouths of babes (or down their throats).
My husband and I have been talking to our now five-year-old son about emergencies and dialing 9-1-1 in the event he needs help, but I wasn’t prepared for yesterday’s morning conversation. . .
As I tried to usher our son out the door for preschool, he asked to bring a toy to show his friends. This is a little something he often requests, and ever so often I allow him to carry a dinosaur, truck or train to school to show his buddies, then I promptly cart it back home with me. I try not to indulge this activity too often because it disrupts the start of school, but I figure as long as we make it quick, it doesn’t hurt every now and then.
So yesterday morning as coats are flying, lunch pails flinging and we are running a few minutes late, my son asks to bring a toy. Mind you, not a specific something, but just something. Knowing the search for the perfect toy would add several minutes to our departure time and he showed and told just last week, I nixed his request. To which, he ignored my nixing and headed for his room. More forcibly , I told him no and asked him to get in the car.
Other than a foot stomp (yeah, he’s five going on fifteen), his simple response was, “Where’s your phone?” Bewildered, I watched him walk round and round the kitchen and living room looking for my phone.
When I finally asked him why he needed a phone, he answered with a huff, “I need to dial 9-1-1, because you’re being mean.”