Your Momma's A Heifer

Ah, this child. This child is a clone of me -- talkative, emotional, the life of the party, clumsy, and always gets stuff on his face when he eats. Okay, the last one is his daddy's trait. I am a lady. And dainty. And a respectful, classy woman. {Burp} Sorry, I just drank a coke and ate a banana. It'll make the Pope burp his ABCs. I've seen it. Anyhoo -- this child. Oh this sweet precious angel baby that was sent from heaven but visits Satan's playground occasionally. And he lights up my world. LIGHTS IT UP. When I walk in the door he runs and hugs his momma showering me with kisses and slinging some crazy phrase my way -- Yesterday he threw this at me, "Why my my my --look at those happenin shoes." See? Made in my image, I'm tellin ya...In my image. Last week I walked in and he said, "Kiss me now sweet baby." I'm beggin him to give IJ some lessons.Today though -- oh today.....He bounded in the front door and wanted to know what was for supper -- and then flew the refrigerator door open and consumed a dozen oranges and three bags of grapes before he even put his backpack down. Then I look at his and said, "HELLO WASH YOUR HANDS WERE YOU BORN IN A BARN?!?!" And his sweet, loving responce back???

"Only if my momma was a heifer. Were you?" At that point and time I pulled out the medieval torture chamber and shock treatment.

Punk.