My little three-year-old guy, the one I refer to as Angel Boy 2.0, needed to tell me something so he grabbed the phone away from his dad.
“Dad, I need to tell Grandma something right now.”
“What is it, T-man?”
“No, I’ll tell her. Give me the phone.”
“Grandma, look! My dad made a work space in the garage!”
“Wow, that’s pretty awesome, are you helping him?”
“I have my own tools, Dad’s are really really sharp. See?”
“Grandma! I’m coming to your house next Wednesday!”
“That’s right, T! Good job remembering the days of the week.”
“Theosaurus, I need to ask you a very important question, OK? Can you listen really hard?”
“Do you have anything special you want me to bake or make for you and Daddy to eat when you come? Muffins or dinner or anything you choose.”
I thought he’d choose oatmeal cookies or apple pie or a blueberry cake, but I wasn’t ready for what he said next…
“Hmmm. Let me think. Grandma? Can you make chicken butts?”
“Uh, how do you make chicken butts?”
“You do something and then put them in the oven and then they’re chicken butts.”
“No, T, I will not make chicken butts. Not ever. Choose something else, please!”
“Can you make popsicles?”
“Yes. I can make popsicles but I will not make chicken butts.”
“OK Grandma. Can I press the red button now?”
“Yes, T and then take the phone back to Daddy. See you soon! Bye.”
Chicken butts. Nope. Just nope.
He’ll have to be happy with an apple pie.