There’s a little boy who moved in on our road last summer. His name is J, and he lives there with his mom and baby sister. He’s been at his Dad’s house the past few times the Pup has gone down there to play.
Just a few minutes ago, she came running in, breathless:
Pup: J’S HOME! I saw them! They are finally back from from his dad’s house!
Me: Yay!
Pup: OMG I HAVE TO BRUSH MY HAIR!!!
Me: you were just out there at papas! You didn’t brush your hair to visit him!
Pup: PAPA DOESN’T CARE! Gimme the brush!
The Boy: I think someone has a crush.
Pup: He’s younger then me! I can’t have a crush!
Me: How much younger?
Pup: He’s like. SEVEN. (for the record for those who have forgotten, the pup is 8.)
Me: Your daddy was two years younger then me…
Pup: I do NOT have no CRUSH….bye! I’m going to J’s!
….and so it begins.
Sigh.
