boobberries

"You can't stop genius" I yell out the door as Wyatt steps into the neighbor's minivan with his paper circles and blue and black markers in hand. He climbed out of bed earlier that morning claiming that he needed to make a 'fruit plate'.

I have (generally) no idea what he is talking about when he demands something in the morning, but I've learned it's just easier to go with it and see what he intended me to do for him by either a smile or him yelling at me that 'I've done it all wrong!'.

So, that morning he asked me to cut circles out of paper. (Apparently my circles were too big, but he decided it would work with whatever he had envisioned.)

But his carpool ride was waiting in the driveway. He ran out of time and had to finish on his way to camp, hence the paper and markers in fist.

When he came home, he told me they were blueberries.


On a not at all related subject (seriously, why do boobs always seem to be in my face), I wanted to tell you all that I quit breastfeeding.

My boys think that Edy is dehydrating at this very moment, because she is no longer drinking milk from me:

'Is she starving?' 'I think she's starving, Mom.' 'She looks mad at you, like she's hungry.'

Umm, no, she's fine.

You all were so kind, helping me feel a little less mommy guilt over me quiting on her.

And I wanted to write about how somehow quitting was easy for me... how my boobberries are doing just fine, they're not at all blueboobbies.

Thanks for asking.

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