Yesterday as I was doling out sub sandwiches, buckling my shoes and watching for the babysitter to arrive, Mr. T asked me the following question:
Mom? What does 'do it' mean? The ten year olds in my class always say it and they laugh. What are they talking about?
The babysitter arrived, two younger brother sat at the kitchen table with my curious nine year old and I had no time, no opportunity to answer. But tonight I will, and so begins the Answering of Tough Questions Prompted by Evil Older Kids. It's moments like these that make watching my kids grow up No Fun At All.
But I am happy he feels all right about asking me these things. That's the best stamp of approval I get on my parenting.
Now I have to fill the birdfeeders before the winter storm hits this afternoon--oh to talk about those birds and maybe some bees instead of the other kind.