Yesterday morning, Whit wore his “handcuffs” to soccer. Two glowsticks wrapped into circles and intertwined. Interesting.
When we got to the park, he was intensely interested in the porta potty on its side. He examined it, going much closer to the door than I thought was wise, and retreated holding his nose. “Mummy! I bet the pee and poop went all over the place!” Yes. Me too. Let’s play soccer.
Tonight, he was watching Thomas. Something (nose in my computer, I did not notice) happened to James, and Whit remarked, “That makes James happy.”

“What makes you happy, Whit?”

“That you give me hugs and kisses all the time.”

1 thought on “Whiticisms”

  1. Look at that hair. Half-wet and smeared against his forehead. I can smell the clean little body of a boy all snuggled into his jammies welcoming kisses from his mama. Ah I know it so so well. And I know that I will miss it when my boys grow up and grow too long to snuggle with me.

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