We bought Samson a kids' Bible a few months back, and he really seems to enjoy some of the stories. [You can guess which one is his favorite.] Of course, Samson is also a pretty literal guy --- he is 3 after all --- and so I think we miss some of what he's picking up.
This morning he didn't finish his breakfast and didn't clear his place. When he went in to the dining room later, the milk that was in his bowl had been absorbed by the cereal he'd left. The following was relayed to me by Vicki a few minutes ago:
[Scene: dining room; Dramatis personae: Samson, Vicki]
Vicki: Samson, you didn't clear your place.
Samson: I'm not finished. I still want to eat my cereal.
Vicki: Well, we need to get you fresh cereal and milk.
Samson: (looking in the bowl) Hey, where did the milk go?
Vicki: Where do you think it went?
Samson: Did God drink it?
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
About Me
- dada
- Call me dada. This has, in the few months since my son started "talking," become my name. I'm sure (at least I hope) it will eventually morph into something less early 20th century art movementy --- but I am marked forever as dada. And this is a good thing. I have no real advice to offer, other than always carry Cheerios and extra onesies, and I don't really have a lot of 'wacky' adventures to regale you with. Truth be told, this is as much for me as it is for you. So, uh, thanks for stopping by. I hope it's at least an interesting time-killer. And if not, consider this an ironic exercise in skewering the bourgeouis notions of 21st century American parenthood by deconstructing the materialist ethos that has turned childhood into a demographic and rendered adults simultaneous enablers and slaves. Or something.
No comments:
Post a Comment