...is to blueberries.
On the way in from a tricycle tour of the neighborhood this morning, P headed up to start lunch, while I let baby-j run around the house a few more times. “Don’t you want to come in for some corn, baby-j? Grapes? Yogurt?” Nothing seemed tasty enough to warrant his going inside; in fact, baby-j decided that it would be a good time to run towards the street into the path of a car that had just turned the corner. As I ran to catch him, I quickly called out, “Let’s get some blueberries.” He immediately stopped, turned around, and marched up towards the front porch. Knowing full well that we didn’t have blueberries in the house, I immediately altered the appeal: “Um, grapes, baby-j; don’t you want some grapes? Grapes... mmm... grapes.” Unfortunately, the damage had been done. He climbed up the stairs to our apartment, chanting “boo-berry, boo-berry, boo-berry.” When we got to the top, P said, “No, baby-j, no blueberries here,” as he hoisted a bowl of grapes from the fridge. “Boo-berry!” baby-j shouted. P looked at me incredulously. “I didn’t say that word.” “But I only said it once,” I protested. “To stop him from getting hit by a car!” P just shook him head, trying in vain to calm the protesting baby-j with the clearly inferior fruit.
2 comments:
But where's J? Is he in there? Is he in the strawberries? In those little strawberries?
(Me: Anything else you want to say?)
I think J needs peanut butter and hockick and friclmick and stuff.
-Collin
My cousin J! I like my blueberries with counsin J. I like a lot and a lot. So, I love my pop pock, my summer cheese. Mmmmmhmmm. I like those blueberries.
-Cayla
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