Last Monday night, Russ and E-beast came to pick me up from work. After being in the car just a couple minutes, Eliot screamed really loudly, all I'm-almost-4-and-am-LOVING-exploring-the-limits like.
Me: Eliot, you need to say you're sorry to us.
E: Sorry, Us.
(muffled laughter from front seat)
R: No, Eliot, you don't say "Sorry, Us."
E: Oh. Sorry, boys.
Maybe ten minutes later, he was complaining about his stomach hurting (more on that later). Adding some grunting and groaning to get our full attention, of course. Now, the conversation you're about to read is not embellished in any form. I swear on my newly borrowed treadmill that this is honestly what my 3 year old son replied all on his own without any prompting from me.
E: Daddy, my belly hurrrrrrrrts.
R: Oh, Bud, what's wrong?
E: I need to go to the mallllllll.
Who has two thumbs and is outrageously proud? This mom! Once again, I have succeeded in all things parenting.
Then to confirm this even futher, at church Sunday we started singing during worship. Eliot looked up at me and said, "Mom, are we singing Spice Girls?"