Wednesday, February 1st, 2012
This morning, I unwrap a granola bar before heading to daycare to drop Roy off. I usually refrain from doing this because he is obsessed with granola bars. He can hear the rustle of packaging from anywhere in the house, or from the front seat over the John Prine, and then all I hear is, “‘Nola bar? ‘Nola bar? ‘Nola bar?” I want him to eat breakfast at daycare, so I usually wait until he is out of earshot.
But right now, I’m super pregnant (still) and hungry, so I unwrapped that granola bar anyway. Immediately came the pleas of ‘nola bar?
Me: OK, Roy. You can have a little. But what’s that special word you say when you want things?
Roy: Silent and staring at me, clearly stumped.
Me: You know. The special word?
Roy, searching: Toys?
Me: Nope, not toys. I know you know the word. It’s puh… puh… puh…
Roy, triumphantly: Police car!Add a Comment