That's My Boy

OK, I am breaking one of my first statements about this blog.  This entry is about the children.  Well, child.  The four-year-old, and my constant companion.

See, what you need to know about the child is that he is an original.  The genuine article.  A blond haired, blue eyed, dimpled, number one, first class, grade-A, fruit loop.  

I sense you need an example. 

Imagine, if you will, a frustrated mother telling her child for the umpteenth time that he needs to finish up in the bathroom.  It is a poop-or-get-off-the-pot situation.  Mother suspects that the child is procrastinating because after he is done in the bathroom it is bedtime.

Now fast forward about 5 minutes.

After calling again to my little man to finish up, I heard him crying.  I was not overly worried, since I suspected that this was some minor thing, a stalling technique.  Still I went in to check.

There he was, my darling four-year-old, pants-less and holding his head.  

And he said this to me:

"I bumped my head on the stupid toilet."  [Sniff. Sniff.]  Then he gave me a big grin.  "I was trying to smell my butt!"

That's my boy!