Carrie Link

So, Rojo is 12 on Monday and still eats toothpaste, still writes on the walls with Sharpies, etc., etc., etc., but I'm telling you, that boy is TAPPED IN!

Last night I was tucking him in, I said, "Who do I love?" We have done this routine for years, the response is always the same, and it goes a little something like this:

ME: "Who do I love?"

HIM: "Me."

ME: "How much?"

HIM: "Every day, all day long, my whole life."

But last night, he didn't say, "me." He started down the list of all other possible suspects.

HIM: "Woohoo"

ME: "Yes, I love Woohoo."

HIM: "Grandma and Papa?"

ME: "Yes, I love Grandma and Papa."

And on and on it went until he came to a friend we'll call Belle.

HIM: "Belle?"

ME: "Yes, I love Belle."

HIM: "But you do not talk to Belle on the telephone anymore."

ME: "No, that's true, but I still love Belle."

That blew my mind, then he blew it even further by asking about a woman I've known for a decade, whom I prefer to call TOXIC WOMAN.

HIM: "What about ____________'s mom?"

I knew exactly who he meant, but pretended not to.

ME: "Who?"

HIM: "You know, the mom of ____________?"

I have said, I thought to myself and never out loud, certainly not in front of him, "My GOD, how I hate that woman! That woman is corrosive! That woman is dangerous! That woman is to be avoided at all costs! That woman, that woman, that woman..."

Busted.

love.

I forgot about the period.

ME: "You're right. I need to work on loving ____________'s mom."