Friday night we took the boys to the mall. The day before I'd purchased a couple pairs of flannel pajama pants for them, but made the mistake of choosing the wrong color for the little man (What was I thinking, right?), therefore we went to exchange them.
On the way home we were teasing the boys, telling them we were going to put on their comfortable new pants and lounge in front of the fireplace when we got home. We're always able to get the little man to "bite" when we say we're going to take something of his for ourselves. He said I couldn't have his new pants and I asked why. Then our 11-year-old smarty britches pipes up and says I'm too big and that I wear a size "billion." Ouch! I have yet to decide whether or not I'll allow him to live another day.
2 comments:
That's OK, my husband likes to call me "Chubba" under his breath just so that the kids can hear and I can't.
It is the romance that keeps our marriage so rockin'
Cris,
And you still allow Carl to breathe? You're a generous woman! :)
~ Marva
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