me: Tuck, Mommy feels very sick today. I really need for you to make better choices and be a good boy today. Please.
tuck: Okay, Mommy. Sorry. I be better. I promise.
(Promise? This is a new word. And frankly, his guarantee melted me a bit... he really means well. My firstborn, typical to those tendencies in so many ways, tries really, really hard. And now, he promises, too. Ugh.)
He carried a Christmas gift into preschool today, so eager to present it to Miss Jill. After much practice, he marched into her classroom, handed her the gift bag, and said, "Merry Pisses, Jill!"
His friend Franklin gave him a gift at preschool today: a snowflake made of beads and white pipe cleaners. He carried it so carefully to the car, and once he was in his carseat, he thrust it at Tyler and said, "Here, Tozz. Want to look at this??"
I. Love. This.
As we drove home from preschool, a car pulled out in front of me. From the backseat, Tucker shouted, "Woah! Just a minute, sir!"
Well, hello there, backseat driver. I'm sort of surprised he didn't wag a finger at the driver, as I have been known to do. (Not that finger, thank you.)
Finishing his lunch at home, Tucker announced, "Mommy! She likes it! Molly likes my cheese!"
He was pretty excited with this discovery and his sentence... I'm loving the language, but not so much the feeding the dog from the table.
Maybe I should be silent more often.
Look who starts talking.