My son the observer

“Look, Mommy. Bubble crap.”

“Ummm, no sweetie. That would be bubble wrap.”

**********************

My son the language specialist

“Mommy, do you want me to sing the Ben 10 song in English or Hebrew?” my son asked.

“In English,” I replied. “You know I always like it when you use your English.”

He quickly hums the opening instrumentals, and with great gusto, launches into the lyrics.  “A cytoquada aliens…”

I looked at him with a bemused smile and said gently, “I’m not sure that’s right, sweetie. I don’t think ‘cytoquada’ is a real word.”

“Yes it is,” he retorted.

“It’s not, sweetie. I’m sorry.”

Rather defiantly now, “it is, Mommy!”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Okay,” I responded, sighing in defeat.

He starts from the beginning. “A cytoquada aliens…”

*****************

My son the sound technician

Snuggled up against me on the couch, the Little One picks up his head and asks, “Mommy, is your tummy rumbling?”

“I don’t think so, sweetie. Why do you ask?”

“I heard something through your nipple.”

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