Monday, March 21, 2011

We Have a Smart Ass on Our Hands

Christopher is at a great stage in Toddlerdom. It's the small amount of time in which he can comprehend sentences but not sarcasm. Here are my favorite examples:

I was in the kitchen a few weeks ago, cleaning pans and loading the best invention ever: the dishwasher. I was also throwing tons of old leftovers, that were never eaten, into the garbage disposal.

Christopher is terrified of the garbage disposal. Not sure why he is. But it always, as I like to say, scares the sh*t out of him. This time was no different. Christopher waltzed into the kitchen just as I was turning on the disposal and says, Dadda, I have to poopie.

Here are the sequence of events immediately following Christopher's poopie proclamation:  I flipped the switch. The grinder began roaring and chopping food. Christopher screamed, did an about-face, and swiftly ran in the other room.

I turned of the garbage disposal and said to Brian, I guess he doesn't have to go poopie any more. Then, just as quickly as he left, Christopher came running back in the kitchen and yelled: Yes I do Momma. I do need to go poopie still!

A week or so ago, Christopher was eating dinner. It was a night when Brian and I were going to get "Adult Food" from Outback. So I made Christopher a couple of fish sticks, broccoli and brown rice.

He never has a problem gobbling up his fish or broccoli but he despises rice. Even though I know he doesn't like it, I still put it on his plate because, A: it's good for him and, B: Mom's are suppose to make their kids eat yucky food.

Anyway, Christopher asked if he could have his cookie. I looked at his plate and said, No, not yet. You haven't even touched your rice. I then went into the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher for a few minutes. When I reemerged in the dining room Christopher had placed his hand flatly and firmly on his rice and then looked at me with a stone cold face only to utter: Look Momma, I'm touching my rice. I want my cookie.

Smart ass.

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