The oven timer beeped, “done” at 8:30a.m.
I asked my youngest son, as he was quietly sitting nearby, to tell his big brother, “The cinnamon rolls are ready, it’s time for him to save his game, power down and come upstairs to eat.”
Next thing I knew the basement door was flung open, and that littlest boy used a great big voice to shout, “Get your butt up here! Breakfast is ready!”
I gotta admit, his big brother listened and I laughed aloud in reply.
I was still chuckling and smiling as I handed ‘em each a plateful of iced, cinnamon goodness, baked from a refrigerated Pillsbury tube.
Good morning.
May your day be A Good One.
I’m smiling here, still charmed by my youngest son’s cut to the chase translation.
~ Janean

November 4, 2012

WOOF

I used to be the neighbor who grumbled about dogs that always barked.
Now I have one.
That’s irony.
My youngest son calls Blue a barkaroo.
He made up a song about it,
“Blue is the bark-a-roooo
of the cent-ur-eeee.”
Those are the only words, sung on a continuous loop in melodious nine year old boy lilt.
Of course I’m charmed.
He’s my fourth grade son, singing about our big sweet pup who still needs to learn some volume control.
That’s love.
~ Janean

July 23, 2012