Friday, December 4, 2009

Dead Roses

Last night as a lay in bed next to my eight year old son, I asked him what lullaby he would like, to which he replied, "Kung Fu Fighting." Nice. So I gave it my best shot. Then he said, "Mom, your breath stinks."

"Whatever. My breath smells like roses," I retorted.

"Yeah. Dead ones."

I love boys.


  1. I'm glad I came across your blog.
    I used to tutor Jackson, and he made me laugh every single day.
    Tell him hi from Miss Christine :)

  2. Fortunately dead roses make potpourri. You're lucky. Whereas my breath, when bad, smells like the bottom of a birdcage.

    Great story. Boys so seriously rock. You will love the years ahead. Never a dull moment. Then you get daughters-in-law all grown up and non-hormonal. Which also rocks.