My Boy.

I was reading Noah a book from the library last night. It was a sing song-y rhyming book about brothers who were picky eaters. I got the middle of the book and out of the blue, saw a page that said this,

"Try this side dish and don't make a face
We're all the atheists, so there's no need to say grace."

DUDE. SERIOUSLY? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Take a deep breath, Laura. Let's not blow a gasket in front of your son.

Noah asks me why I stopped reading. I decide in my head, 'Sure, I'll read what it says and ask him what he thinks about that.' After he asked me what 'atheist' meant and I explained, there was silence then Noah decided to blow a gasket for me....

"WHAT?? JUST WHO ARE THOSE PEOPLE THANKING FOR THE LIFE THEY'RE LIVING?? THEMSELVES??" and with a hand on his hip and a snap of his fingers, "I DON'T THINK SO!" (think Claire Huxtable on a really bad PMS day.)

Two things were revealed to me through this gasket-blowing extravaganza:
1. Noah might just turn out to be OK.
2. He's inherited his mother's smart mouth. (Actually, it's MY mother's smart mouth, but I'll take the credit this time.)

On another note, as I'm writing this, I've been watching Noah play with Play-doh and he is strategically piling it around the island in our kitchen. I asked him what he was making, and he replied, "Piles of poop." I suppose he can't be deep and philisophical ALL the time.