Kyle and I, lying in bed alone together early this morning, discussing his numerous scrapes, cuts, bruises, and gashes all over his entire body… Kyle: “Mommy, I like owies. Mommy, I like to crash.”
The whole family, riding in the car this evening driving home from Father’s Day dinner at the boys’ favorite restaurant (Carrabas), I was trying to explain to K & O that the back-seat windows in our car do not go all the way down like the back-seat windows did in the rental car we had on Virgin Gorda… Owen: “Mommy, I’m so mad at you about these windows. Mommy, I need to be rude at you!”