Yesterday I picked TJ up from the bus (Wednesdays are the one and only day I get to do that). He climbed in the van and very seriously informed me that a girl cried the whole bus ride home. I asked what was wrong with her and TJ said, "Well, she got dumped. Do you know what dumped means?"
I told no, I didn't. He continues to look very serious and said, "Well, it means.........um.....see.....you know, I don't know what it means."
Good. You are only six. It's ridiculous that this is even a topic of conversation among elementary school kids.
Last week, I made enchiladas. TJ usually hates them, but this time, he inhaled his entire enchilada. But that is a tough word for him. Several times during the meal he said, "This is really good. What's it called again?" When his plate was clean he said, "Mom, can I have another chihuahua?" Bill and I both lost it.
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