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    Cookie trouble

    November 20th, 2011

    Last night G and I made cookies. Specialty’s is a local bakery that just released a line of cookie mix, and I couldn’t pass it up. So tonight after dinner G got his treat of cookie. How does he pick? Largest one in the batch. Duuuuh.
    G proudly paraded his cookie before S and exchanged the following:

    S: Woa! That’s a really big cookie!
    G: (smirk)
    S: That cookie is so big, if you eat it we’re going to be in trouble.
    G: Yeah. I know!

    Hmmm. I might need to re-think my baking strategy going forward.


    February 6th, 2011

    G was going crazy jumping on our bed this afternoon, swatting, and throwing things. After many times of me asking him to stop, I took S2 (who was in my arms the whole time) and walked away into the nursery. S2 and I, then, sat in the glider. About 2 minutes later, G sheepishly waddled over and asked to cuddle too.

    So he and I proceeded to have the following heart:

    Me: G, why don’t you listen to me?
    G: Huh?

    Touche, child, touche!

    Silly Goose!

    December 14th, 2010

    I had to take G for an emergency pedi visit today (don’t worry, he’s fine). As we’re driving back from the appointment, I felt a shoe hit my seat and land right over my emergency break. Joy. A toddler who’s taking off his shoes AND it’s raining outside. Double bonus. This is then followed by hearing his sweet voice call out “Mamma, look-a me!” As I peak in my rear view mirror at him, I see him pulling on his sock with his teeth. He had stretched the teeny sock out so far, I think it’s now a knee-high. I shook my head and tried not to laugh. We then proceeded with the following exchange:

    Me: G, you’re silly. You are a silly goose.

    G: Noooo!

    Me: You are too. You are silly. Silly goose.

    G: Noooo!

    Me: Ok, if you are not a silly goose then, what are you?

    G: A Fiffin!

    And there you have it. He is a Fiffin.

    G chats

    June 20th, 2010

    [while pointing at my shirt] G: Momma, down. Ball!

    S: He thinks you have a ball under you shirt.

    Me [while straightening the shirt and pointing to the belly]: No, buddy. Baby!

    G [continuing to point]: BALL!

    S [defensively]: I didn’t teach him that!

    Oh yeah, this sure doesn’t give a pregnant woman a complex or anything.