Here is a visual representation of storytime with my son last night before bed.
We were reading an alphabet book created by my mother which includes pictures of objects and people my children know well, to help them learn their ABC’s.
For the letter H:
Now for the letter R:
He also calls this as a “sheep” every single time:
While this is terribly amusing to me, especially considering he can perfectly name and pronounce “caterpillar” and “centipede”, it’s disturbing when his poor communication skills equal long nights of inexplicable bawling.
I had insomnia last night and fell into a coma-like sleep, so my husband got shafted when Huck kept waking up screaming. He was hysterical, tears streaming down in his face, bouncing in frustration like an epileptic.
Despite a barrage of questions, he couldn’t tell us what was making him so outrageously upset.
Does your ear hurt? Does your mouth hurt? Did you fall out of bed? Does your belly hurt? Do you want milk?
His only response through sobs, “Carson.”
“Do you want water?”
Huck: “Jay Jay.”
It turns out that if Huck doesn’t know the answer to a question, he assumes you are asking him who his best friends at school are.
Hilarious, right? Unless he is suffering from some mysterious and unbearable pain that only an emergency room physician can diagnose.
I guess “Carson” is a cute nickname for a tumor.
Recently, I overheard my son saying something to my husband repeatedly, my husband trying to decipher his mush-speak.
Rolando: “You want paintball?” “You want people?” “You want Paypal?” “You want a peephole?” “You want RuPaul?”
He wanted a pink or purple ball.
He has come up with great alter egos for my brother and sister-in-law. Uncle Matt and Aunt Laura are now Mack and Lola.
I guess it could be worse. Alma used to say “truck” like “cock.”
She was constantly shouting, “Look at the big cock!” “It’s a fire cock!”
I’m guessing to someone, somewhere, that’s a euphemism for an STD.