My two year old stands in front of the kitchen cabinet holding the door open. She is known for making up names, and sounds as if she’s calling to someone…
Me: What, honey?
#1Baby: Sweeeeetie Mo!
Me: [stop lunch prep, kill background thought process, start the advanced 2YO deciphering services.] What?
#1Baby: Sweeeeetie Mohhhhhhh!
Me: Sweetie Mo?
Me: Honey, who is Sweetie Mo?
#1Baby: Sweeeeetie Mohhhhhhh Shaaaaaaaan!
Me: And this is why your mother shuts off the radio when she gets home.
#1GF! and now twenty month old #1Baby were in the kitchen. I had yet to get out of bed, so the radio wasn’t blasting out it’s steady stream of classic rock. #1Baby broke the silence.
#1Baby: Want to hear the news.
#1GF!: [raising an eyebrow] You want to hear the news?
#1Baby: Hear him. Hear the news.
#1GF!: [walking over to radio] You want to hear the news?
#1Baby: Hear him.
#1GF!: The news. On the radio.
#1GF!: You want to hear The Nuge?
#1Baby: Hear him. Now.
#1GF!: I’m going to have a talk with your father when he gets up.
Today was bring your kids to work day. The sound of little girls giggling while I was trying to figure out IP ranges for sites halfway around the globe drove me absolutely batshit insane because we all know that work is work and no place for fun. The minute that I heard that run through my head, the childrens’ laughter was no longer distracting or bothersome.
Although one girl kept calling me Paul, and she explained that perhaps she was thinking of Pope John Paul, and just forgetting the Jon. I thought that was somewhat reasonable coming from a seven year old, given all the people that she had probably met that day.
That was, until when leaving, she said,
Girl: “You know this is really like you dying.”
Girl: No, it’s like I probably won’t see you again, so…
Girl: It’s like you’re dead. What, mom? It is.”
Me: Ok, then. See you next year.