I debated posting this, partly due to my modest nature(*cough*), but also because it just sounds so implausible, even now, that I hesitate to strain your capacity to suspend disbelief.
So, Emmett’s sitting at the kitchen island on his stool this morning, watching me get stuff together for his ham and eggs. He loves ham and eggs. I was leaning over to grab the milk out of the open fridge, and Emmett says, “Have cute butt, daddy.” I stood and turned to him.
“What, buddy?” Surely I hadn’t heard correctly.
“Have cute butt, daddy.” And then he smiles this big smile, no doubt in reaction to the open-mouthed look of incredulity on my face.
One thing about raising kids: There aren’t many other ways in this world to regularly experience the sensations of love, amazement, humor, and psychological discomfort all at the same time. I set the milk down on the counter, walked over next time Emmett, and said, “Thanks, little fella. You’re silly!”
Note to self: Have talk with Leah about her inappropriate language around the kids. Remind her I’m not just a piece of meat.