My kindergartner, Super M, says to me the other day at the dinner table, “Mommy? Do you weemember that chef-show that you was watching, dat had that big waydy (lady) who cooked sumfin awful? And she said ‘Oh mercy!’ Do you weemember it?”
I giggle. “Yes baby?”
He responds with a simple, “She was weawy (really) funny.”
He made me laugh, but, because he’s so sensitive, I didn’t want to laugh outright. I stifled it as much as I could, giggled a little, but oh goodness me, he’s so cute. “Okay, baby,” I finally respond, snorting back more laughs as I clean my plate and head for the kitchen.
A few minutes later, I hear a commotion as I’m cleaning up. My toddler, I see, is making the hugest mess at the table, on all nights, spaghetti night. Super M announces while telling on her “Moooom! She’s making mercy on her plaaaaate!”
Our new word for a mess – Mercy. For the win!
I. Love. It.
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