Short Stuff and I were on our own this weekend and he was in fine form. Despite cutting another troublesome molar, he was running in fifth gear from the moment his feet hit the floor in the morning until his head hit the mattress at night.
We went out on Saturday to run errands and while trying to cross from the curb at one of the dreaded warehouse stores, we were very nearly run over by some jerk who decided that speeding up so that I had to jump back was hysterical. Mind you, this wasn't a teenager, either, it was a guy well into his fifties, driving a very expensive Mercedes. And just as he shot past me with that smirk on his face?
He hit a pothole he wasn't looking at and he blew a tire.
And I? Turned and said loudly ''Your mother would have told you it served you right for being an ass!''
Good Lord, one of these days I might get my butt kicked but I laaaaaaaaughed all the way to the car.
The rest of the weekend was a jubilant blur of running toddler feet and the excitement of being! almost! two! and! everythings! fun!!
We watched a Baby Einstein dvd about farms and everytime the cow puppet or the illustration appeared, Shortness yelled ''Booooool!''
At first I thought he was saying moo. ''That's a cow'. I said, nodding, "And the cow says mooo.''
Lather, rinse, repeat. And then it dawned on me. Puppet, illustration... NO UDDERS. Bull.
He's right, its not a cow, its a bull.
Dang. Forget being smarter than a fifth grader, I'm not even smarter than a guy not yet two!