Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Pickle.

I have been seeing lately that my boy, who looked exactly like my nephew at birth and looks very much like me on many occasions, with his father's big grin, is more like me than I had even imagined possible.

When he gets angry or frustrated with something, he throws a LOUD but mercifully BRIEF hissy fit. (Me: COME HELP ME WITH THIS F***** JAR LID IT WON'T OPEN.....never mind, got it)

He loves goats. (Me: Can we feed the goats, can we, do you have a quarter? Come here, goat!)

He loves chasing the ducks at the park. (Me: Ooh baby ducks! Look at the fuzzy wee babies! Can I go see the baby ducks? Babbbeeeeeee duckieeeeeesss!)

He is amused by the cat's craziness. (Me: LOOK AT THE CAT. Lookatherlookatherlookather. That cat is nuts.) (I will also admit that once, we put tape on Nutmeg's feet. It was mean and we should never do it again. But we probably will.)

And today, yet another way my little guy is like me. I was trying to feed him lunch and he wouldn't eat more than a bite of anything. Until I gave him a kosher dill pickle. Which he proceeded to maul and gnaw until it was an unrecognizable, soggy lump on his tray. (Me: Deep fried pickles! Pickle on a stick! Ooh, can we get a pickle on a stick? Mmmmmm.)

That's my boy!

No comments: