You’re my Obama. You’ve come to mean so much in so short a time.
~The Boy to me, obviously OD’d on the Presidential race.
You’re my Obama. You’ve come to mean so much in so short a time.
~The Boy to me, obviously OD’d on the Presidential race.
Little B, 2 years and 4 months old, with cheeks that threaten to fall off his face, is comfortably settled on my lap, a fairly routine location in his busy daily schedule. From this perch, he views his beloved ‘fissees’ on my computer, after which he will toddle off to his classroom to seek higher learning. Since his family is known to me, I usually ask after them:
OJ: How is Mamma?
Little B: Fine *cheek wobble*
OJ: How is Nani?
Little B: Fine *cheek wobble*
OJ: How is [the dog’s name]?
Little B: Fine *cheek wobble*
OJ: How is [uncle’s name]?
Little B: Not fine.
OJ: Why, what happened?
Little B: Mosquito bite
…
At which point OJ takes over the wobbling.
Others bring emotional baggage to their relationship. We’ve got movers and packers.
~The Boy to me.
a.k.a. Because We’re Fools for Love.
OJ: I wonder if we’ll ever stop cuddling in elevators.
The Boy: As long as there are elevators…..
a.k.a. Love is Blind
OJ , texting a girlfriend: Oh no! He’s picking me up in 20 minutes and I have a moochh!
Girlfriend, texting back: Just flash your boobs, men don’t notice moochhes anyway.
OJ to her girlfriends (proudly): Ahem! Notice my new glasses?
Girlfriend 1 (blankly): New glasses? They look the same.
OJ (huffily): These are Tommy Hilfiger tortoiseshells. The old ones were black.
Girlfriend 2 (absently): I never noticed your old ones either.
OJ (glaringly): The problem with you guys is that you love me for the person I am!
The Boy: Would you believe, they’ve labeled 2008 the Year of the Potato.
OJ (smugly): Ha! They’re naming a year after me now?
You’re always on my mind. Like a default pop-up window that is occasionally minimized.
~ The Boy to me.
Vox populi