Call me Flo...and I'll tell you to "Kiss my grits!"

My sweet little guy walks in the house after football practice and plops himself down in a sweaty heap on the couch.  Earbuds in, "ignore mom" mode on.  It's OK, I'm cool with that.  I know from experience that better discussions are most always held better after some food hits his stomach.  So, one fruit plate and half a sloppy joe later...


Me:  "How's it going?"

Little guy:  "Good."

Me:  "Football practice fun?"

Little guy:  "Yup."


My conversational needs satiated, I head to the kitchen to figure out something dinnerish.  Dave walks in.


Dave:  "Is that my boy over there?"

Me:  "Yup."  (OK, so I suppose I can't blame my little guy for having that same response, eh?)

Dave:  "Hey, you need any ice water or anything?" to the dude on the couch.

Little guy:  "Oh, yeah...MOM!"


Oh, no he didn't!  Surely that lovely little guy of mine wasn't taking an offer from his dad and turning it into an "order" for mom...surely not.


Dave:  "I got it!"   ...saved by the dad....

"Ding!"  Order in, time to "like" my blog on facebook.