I guess we have a potty-trained almost-two-year-old? Mostly? Does that count? Who cares; I’ll take a no-accident trip to the zoo as a sign of sufficient victory.
“William, don’t yell at Jesus. He’ll put his shoes back on when he’s ready.”
We’re potty training William, and he is currently studying the potty episode of Daniel Tiger with the intensity usually reserved for a grad student trying to comprehend Michel Foucault.
William: “Dad I need money!”
W: “For…for…for the man!”
Me: “What man?”
W: “Dadadadad I need money!”
I think my son might be in deep with some bad people…
William’s hit a point where he’s extremely opinionated about his shirts. Apparently none of the blue shirts we have are the right blue shirt. I must begin a quest for the one, true blue shirt for peace to return to our home.
I can’t decide if accidentally reverting back to the “Baby” title for William’s blog stemmed from distraction over all the neat new stuff he does, or just my brain melting.
William’s theology at this point: “Jesus loves me and gives me donuts.”
Upon discovering that his Grandpa was not present, William confidently declared “Grandpa is playing golf!” A very solid guess.
William informed me he saw a “rabbit in the blue garbage trash truck,” with a giant, mischievous smile on his face. I believe my son has discovered goofs.
That moment when you frantically try to remember what comes in a standard dice set to check if your son’s claim that he “ate a dice” is accurate. I’ve never been so happy to find a D10.