As often as I hear my own words come flying out of The Boy’s mouth at random times, you’d think that I’d get over the shock. I mean, how can you still be surprised at something that happens near daily? But, it never fails; the little booger always gets me.
A couple of nights ago, we had burritos for dinner. (Total aside, but this is one of those perfect examples of something you can say and have every single person in the room conjure a different mental image of what it means to them: love, happiness, burritos. I LOVE THAT.) We had just a bit of leftovers, which is great for me because I tend to forget to eat if I don’t have something that I can do very quickly; leftovers are the bomb.
So I’m standing there in the kitchen, having already made and served The Boy’s daily PB&J, constructing my lunch, when he comes waltzing in and talks to me while he does his usual squirming dance around the linoleum floor in his socks, swinging himself out the doorway back to the dining room as he delivers his last line.
Making my lunch.
you’re going to turn into a burrito someday.
… staring after child with my WTF?!? face on.
For the record, this is probably my 3rd burrito in as many years, and the other 2 were on Sunday night. His Majesty, on the other hand, is trying for his spot in the Guinness Book for the most days eating PB&J in a row. I think he’s up to 10 years if you count the ones he made me crave while he was in utero.