The French Have A Word For Everything.

Almost everything.

This morning as I was getting Sean dressed for the day, I stood him on the changing table and helped him into his shirt. When he popped his head through, he yelled “Boo!” — like he does every morning. And I pretended to be frightened and faint dead away, like I do every morning. Is there any better way to start out the day than with a faux faint? If you haven’t tried it, you should.

When I dramatically flutter my eyes open, we both laugh hysterically like we do every morning. One of us laughs authentically complete with boogers and one of us faux laughs in the accent of the day. Today was French accent day.

I am seriously dreading the day when the faux faint is no longer funny because I’m outta jokes. I got nothing left up my pajama sleeve. Anyway, when I stood up, I was rewarded for my efforts with a crooked little dimpled smile that makes me stupid with joy and makes it totally worth the effort of making a fool of myself. I couldn’t help but to wrap my arms around him and just try to inhale the essence of his being.

“You are yummy yummy delicious, buhdicious, skalicious, smadicious, jahlicious!!” I cooed in his ear.

“Mommy,” he said with a tone of disgust and pushing me away, “That not weal woods!”

“Sure they are!” I said. “It’s French for, You smell like a big buttery croissant.”

“I no fink so,” he said shaking his head. He wasn’t buying it.

Okay, so I don’t really speak French. I totally made that up because there just aren’t any words, in any language, to describe how that little boy makes my heart sing.

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