I’m tired, and I’m trying to get through the email that came in today on my vacation day with Will. (Trying really hard not to devote to much time as, well, note that it was a vacation day, but instead to just get the quick stuff taken care of and the rest into a folder to deal with on Monday.)

Anyway, some things that are just in my head and I need to get them out…

* My TV habit has been to switch to Top Chef (as opposed to yet another CSI or Dexter or even Bones) once I hit 10:30 or 11 so as not to freak myself out. I’m noticing, however, that it is not helpful for the diet. My mouth is literally watering as I watch them cook the steaks. Oh, goodness.

* The “Best of Craigslist” is freakin’ hilarious.

* The Will story of the day:

This morning, we hung out at Dunkin Donuts for awhile, me drinking my coffee while he drank his strawberry milk (he refused both a donut and munchkins — I once again ask where he actually came from) and played with his cars. An acquaintance walked in just as he announced he had to go to the bathroom. (Yes, this is a bathroom related post. You know it’s gonna be good or else I would so not be posting it.) With all our stuff on the table and him saying “Now!” it was pretty obvious that I wasn’t sure what to do. Olive said she would watch our things while I took him.

Thanking her, I said, “It will be quick.”

Will, donut-resisting-abilities-notwithstanding, does tend to take after me in the sense that talking about bathroom activities is done in private. He waited until we were safely locked away in the bathroom to say, “I have to poop, Mommy.”

“O.k.,” I said, not thinking much of it.

He looked at me with what can only be described as an expression of ‘You idiot.’ What he actually said, though, was, “It won’t be quick.”

Oh. Well, right. Luckily, Olive is a daycare provider and not unaware of the intricacies of taking kids to the bathroom. I am not worried. I am, however, apologetic. “I’m sorry, Will. I think it will be o.k.”

He gave me the Ammirati look. (Yay, he really is related to me.)

“Are you mad?” I asked, wondering if more apologies were necessary.

“No,” he said, finally releasing me from his piercing gaze. He looked at the toilet paper roll. “I’m disappointed.”

Did I just hear that right? “Disappointed?”

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his yes.

Oh, my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness… I literally had to turn to the wall, shaking with laughter. What kind of five-year-old says that?

My five-year-old. Hell, yeah.

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