He Sure Ain't No George Washington
"Squid?"
"Yeah, Ma?"
I sighed, inwardly. I hated it when he called me "Ma". It made me feel like I should weigh about 270 pounds, dress in rough homespun, and be driving a team of mules with my large, work-reddened hands.
"What are you doing?"
"I be good."
Hmmm. Doubtful. Being good was never that quiet, so I left the dishes where they were and dried my hands on a towel as I made the journey up the stairs to the playroom.
When I arrived he was kneeling on the train table, his back to me. At the sound of my steps he turned around and held up a puzzle piece with a gigantic, toothy smile. "See, Ma? Good. Be good."
Huh, whattya know. He was being good.
"You doing a puzzle, Squid?"
His smile grew even wider, his blue eyes innocent. "Yeah, Ma!"
"Yes, Mama," I corrected.
"Yeah, Ma!" he repeated.
Sigh.
"Alright, you keep being good then." I went backstairs to finish cleaning up the oatmeal they'd splattered everywhere during breakfast. Five or ten minutes passed, with him still silently doing puzzles upstairs. I called up occasionally, to make sure he was still alive.
"Are you being good, Squid?"
"Be good!" he'd chirp back, in a happy tone.
Was it possible my almost two year old was some kind of child genius who could entertain himself quietly for 20 minutes straight, without moving, playing with a puzzle that was designed for 5 year olds?
Nope.
My mom-senses tingling, I made my way to the playroom again. Squid turned around at my approach, and held up the puzzle piece.
"See, Ma? Be good." Smiling, he waved the puzzle piece at me.... in an attempt to distract me as he hunched his body forward, hiding something. I took a few steps to the side... and saw the 5 pound bag of brown sugar he'd stolen from the countertop.
"SQUID! DID YOU GET INTO THE SUGAR AGAIN?" I stared down at him, at his sugar-encrusted face and hands, and at the open bag between his knees.
He looked back up at me, blue eyes large, and shook his head.
"No, Ma. No. DagonMokey di' it."
Awesome. Not even two years old and he already knows the fine art of lying.
Whoever says they like little kids because they're "so honest and forthright" sure hasn't spent a lot of time hanging around them.
(I snapped this picture yesterday because according to the Squid,
"No. No, Ma. I no peacup buttah. No eat. Nope.")
"No. No, Ma. I no peacup buttah. No eat. Nope.")
posted by Becky at
10:13 AM
4 Comments:
He is just the cutest thing ever.
Amy went through a stage of eating and smearing butter. BUTTER for the love of everything. If we forgot to put the butter on the highest shelf where she couldn't climb to it, I'd turn back around and find her swimming in it.
There was also that time she tipped an entire box of cocoa all over the kitchen bench. And the time she played in the flour bin.
Thank goodness you believed him. It's so important for future writers to get away with it...
hahaha! I love your kids... and I love the fact that they are YOUR kids, and not only do you have to deal with them, but you write it down and share it with us!
Why did you have such cute kids? You're going to be at their mercy until they're somewhere between 12 and 13. Then it will be too late. I believe it has something to do with evolution.
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