Sunday, March 31
Once, looooooong ago, I was a professional communicator
I'm feeding the baby; Noah's putting away the laundry I've folded and sorted. Noah hates putting away laundry. Noah hates doing laundry, folding laundry, looking at laundry, the word laundry.
Noah: Which drawer does this shirt go in?
Me: Comfy t-shirts. Left, third drawer down.
Noah: And what about this one?
Me: Comfy comfies, left, second drawer down.
Noah: Wait, how many drawer divisions do you have?
Me: It makes perfect sense: Comfy t-shirts, comfy comfy shirts, comfy pants, comfy nice shirts, fancy shirts...
* * *
Noah rides his bike down the street to a friend's house to ask for a particular drill bit he needs to finish assembling the boys' new play set.
Ethan: What's taking Daddy so long?
Me: To be honest, I have no idea.
Noah returns 20 minutes later.
Noah: He couldn't find the drill bit.
Me: That's too bad.
Noah: But I did ride his motorcycle a little bit.
Noah: You rode a motorcycle once, right? With your roommate's dad? Anyway, he gave me a quick tutorial, and I may have ridden around the neighborhood.
An hour later, we're sitting around the family room. I'm holding the baby; Noah and Ethan are playing on the Wii.
Me: I love you boys.
Me: I said I love you boys.
Noah: Mommy said she loves us. Even though I go out and wreck motorcycles instead of doing what I say I'm going to do.
Me: You WHAT?
Noah: Yeah, I laid it down. And a peg broke off the back wheel.
Noah: But he said they're really cheap to replace, so I shouldn't worry about it.
Me: WELL THAT'S A RELIEF.