“I go to the gaaaame,” he beseeched me repeatedly from my left hip, as I tromped across the parking lot from the tailgating party to the big show. He’s 32 pounds now, you know, and as it happens, he likes being carried more than ever. I wake up sore each morning from the hours of hefting him hither and yon.
“Do you want to ride on my shoulders?” I’ll ask hopefully, longing to give my biceps a break. Sometimes he acquiesces, and other times he shouts, “DON’T SAY THAT!” and shakes his finger in my face.
Two. It’s a really great age.
Anyway, when we were in stands, I gave him a bite of my cotton candy, which we all know is pretty much like feeding a toddler several grams of premium crack cocaine. In Shef’s case, the sugar high fueled his intense desire to see the pig. The Saint Paul Saints have a real live pig mascot that comes out between innings dressed up in different costumes, and after he saw it one time, he yelled:
“WHERE’S THE PIG!?!?” every five seconds, much to the delight of our section-mates.
I have taken up "Don't say that!" accompanied by a wagging finger. My family loves it. THANKS be to SHEF!
ReplyDeletei also admire the direct "don't say that!" It's even better than my aunt's use of "I don't like it." But I like the finger wave gesture as emphasis.
ReplyDeleteReally cute picture!