He pumps my ego

Bryce: I love you Mama.

Me: I love you too, Bugs. To the moon and back.

Bryce: I love you more than glue.

Me: Ummm, thanks. I think.

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Bryce: Here mommy, I brought you a weed.

Me: *looking at a large dandelion* Thanks Bugs, I love it.

Bryce: It's just a weed, but it's the prettiest weed in the yard, just like you.

Me: Um, thanks. I think.

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Bryce: Let's go out to eat for dinner tonight.

Me: No

Bryce: *in the irritating and whiney voice I hate* But the stove is so tiiiiiired! We shouldn't cook on it.

Me: Too bad. It's lazy if it's so tired after not getting used all day, we need to fix that, make it work a little. (in my defense, it's summer and we are eating more sandwiches for lunch).

Bryce: I don't feel like chicken for dinner. I feel like Culver's.

Me: Too bad. No.

Bryce: *growls at me* I can't wait till I am fifteen hundred years old and can do whatever I want. I'm gonna eat at Culver's everyday!

Me: More power to you, but I have a feeling Culver's isn't going to be there and you won't be eating anywhere when you are fifteen hundred years old . . .

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Me: Good morning Bubba! Time to wake up!

Brady: No, mama. I don sink so. No skool. No skool. Me night night.

Me: Bubba, you have to go to school today (I am trying to be chipper. I don't do chipper in the morning. Apparently, neither does my son) you get to play with your friends, see Miss Julie and Miss Pam. Aren't you happy to get to go to school.

Brady: *looks at me seriously, eyebrows drawn down and everything* Um, no, mama. Skool icky. I seepy. Night night. Turn wite off pease. (He pulled the covers over his head and rolled over on to his belly.

Me: Hard to argue with sense like that, I guess. Ok, Bubba, good idea. Night Night.

For the record, he is only three. If he misses a day of coloring and pasting to sleep in and spend the morning chilling out with me, I am pretty sure his future is not ruined. It was fun. But his attitude about it cracked me up the whole time. A few` months ago, he would have screamed me out of his room without words, throwing whatever he could get his hands on at me. Now, he can tell me what's on his mind and I love it. There are days, though, that I wish I had a Mute Button.