Carson came home from school today with a card he’d made about his Daddy.
“Look at that!,” I exclaimed enthusiastically. “You’re sitting in the backseat of the car, is that Daddy driving?”
Carson scowled at me, his arms firmly crossed. “Yes,” he huffed. “But I messed it up and drew hair in Daddy’s eyes. And Daddy doesn’t drive a car! He drives a Cheby Abawanche.” Oh the disappointment and injustice!
Inside the card, Carson answered a few questions about Tate. It’s so like my very serious son to come up with such accurate answers. (His teacher said that Carson came up with the best answers! I don’t know exactly what “best” means in terms of this particular assignment, but I’ll assume it means he’ll get a full ride scholarship to Harvard one day because he’s a genius.)
I think he knows his Daddy pretty well.
“Carson,” I asked, “What is my favorite show?”
“House Hunters,” he said with as much DUH, MOM as he could muster.
I guess he knows me pretty well, too.