Clearly my continuous remarks, self criticisim and frequent whining about the baby weight I have yet to lose from my last two pregnancies has been noted by my third son. Either that or my son has a career in politics waiting for him.
Last night as my husband and I were engaged in a breathtaking and dazzeling badmiton match on the front lawn Noah, 11, was on the sidelines enjoying my grunts and groans as I alternativly missed and hit that miserable little birdie. Suddenly as I swung my rack and was about to connect with that little blue birdies bottom Noah's voice broke through my concentration.
"Huh?", I asked wiping the sweat, err, perspiration off my brow. I turned to Noah and looked at him. He stepped closer to me and pointed to his hips and said "I've been waiting for the pants to get looser and now they are."
My jaw hung as I stared at him increduously, stupidly wondering why he was waiting for his black windbreakers to get loser? Noting my lack of understanding, Noah tried again. This time he pointed to my hips, notably larger than his, and repeated himself.
"The pants. Yours! I've been waiting for them to get loser, like your black ones. First they were tight, and now they are loser."
Choosing to ignore the adjective tight and accepting the rest, I smiled my thanks and resumed play, but with just a little more energy and enthusiasm than a moment earlier. Yep - I have quite the knight in shining armour in that boy. He just needs a little polishing.
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Tuesday, June 06, 2006
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