Allow me to introduce you to french–sort of. Every night, for the past 11 years, my son and I have a routine: I say it’s bed time and he tries to convince me otherwise. I tuck him in and he always remembers he forgot something in the kitchen, dining room or any other room downstairs. And finally, I threaten and tickle; he ignores me and squeals.
Well, this particular night he thought he’d try something a little different.
When I came into the room, the light was on and he was wearing his monster truck pajamas with his suit jacket. He bowed when I entered the room saying: right this way, Madam. He took my hand and kissed it and led me to his neatly made bed. Then he got down on his knees and said: poo vay ma parlatwoket? Then he started hacking, like he was choking on something; he cleared his throat and said: now where were we?
At this point, I did what any good mother would do: I laughed, HYSTERICALLY, until I was crying.
It’s moments like these that make my job as a mother soo darn delightful!
Once I dried my tears, I tucked him in as he fussed every step of the way. I got in 2 good tickles and made him say uncle twice before letting him be.
Before I left the room I asked him what the phrase meant. He immediately answered: would you let me stay up, I promise I’ll clean my room and do all of my chores. Plus, I’ll even do my laundry. So, wha-da-ya say?
Wow, all of that for that tiny little sentence. What can I say? The boy’s got skill.
Thanks for visiting,