Balls

Last night, Brock and I were driving to pick Adrianna up from dance class. 

The radio wasn’t on and we weren’t talking.

Just enjoying each other’s quiet company and reflecting on our days.

All of a sudden, Brock says, “BALLS!”

When I look in the back seat, he is holding up a bag of tennis balls that I keep forgetting to drop off at the babysitter’s house (that’s another story that I don’t entirely understand myself so I’m just going to leave that part out).

I sigh a small sigh of relief and he says, “Mom?  Did you hear me?  I said balls!  Haha, that’s funny!  It sounds like the balls that are in my pee pee.”

And honestly?  How do I argue with that?

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3 thoughts on “Balls

  1. My neighbor’s 4-year-old told her the other night that her husband called her a dumba**. Her husband did not, in fact, call her that. 4-year-old thinks he should not be in trouble because he was just repeating what Dad said. Oh, boy!

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