I was hanging out with two of my sisters a few weeks ago and we walked into Borders books. One of the greeting card displays near the front had the classic (cliché) card with a picture of a nakey baby’s bottom (oh, I can’t wait to see the Google traffic for typing that one).
One of my sisters said something about how cute that was.
I muttered, “I see enough of that already.”
Hayden has been kissing just about any stuffed animal he can get his hands on lately. (I’ve got some cute video of him kissing Marty the Monkey that I’ll have to upload.)
At least I think it’s kissing… He hasn’t quite learned the puckering portion of kissing and instead just presses the stuffed animal’s muzzle (sometimes its mouth, but more often its nose) against his lips over and over again.
Unfortunately, he’s not much of a one for kissing people. At least not me, anyway. I have even asked outright for kisses. Sometimes he smiles at me coyly; most of the time he makes the stuffed animal kiss me. (Once, completely without prompting, he gave his dad a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, so I’m doubly jealous!)
Today, I let him play with a fur mouse that really belongs to Whiskers. Don’t worry, she’s never used it; it was still in its packaging when he found it and demanded it. As soon as I gave it to him, he began to press it to his lips. I was sitting with my face inches from him anyway, so I took this opportunity to ask for kisses.
He offered me the mouse.
I stole a kiss.
He went back to kissing the mouse. The next time I looked over at him, he still had the mouse against his mouth. Well, more accurately, between his teeth.
Guess I don’t need kisses that bad.
Yesterday some nice missionaries came by my house. I’ve never had missionaries from another faith talk to me (I know, shocking), and it was a good first experience. We talked about the Bible and Satan’s influence in the world. I could have gone on and on about my beliefs, but I respectfully listened instead and ended up politely declining their offered book about the Bible. (I hardly have enough time to read the Bible, let alone read about why I should be reading the Bible.)
They thanked me for coming to the door (which might have been a rarity in my neighborhood, though I’m sure many people were legitimately not home, despite having cars parked in their driveways) and bade me a good day.
As soon as I shut the door, I bowed my head pensively—and noticed my shirt. I bet they must have thought they hit paydirt when they read what it said:
