“Ony Blen’s Sled”

Wednesday after school, Jake wanted to slide down the snowhills on our front lawn with ten year old neighbours Brad and Brennan (Bren). Their slopes were a tad steep for my little man, but we agreed he could go down some of the gentler ones, as long as he was accompanied by one of the big kids.

Jake was as happy as a pig in dirt. Or a dog rolling in dead fish. Or Mommy after a few shots of Butterscotch liqueur. Or… you get my point.

After a little while, and his cheeks were looking more white then rosy, we came inside for hot chocolate and marshmallows. And that was the end of that.

However, Thursday morning as I was dressing Jake to go outside for the bus, all he could say was this:

Imagine Jake accommodating my efforts to get him dressed, almost robotically, as he waves his index finger back and forth in the ‘no-no’ motion…

“Nah Quinn’s sled. Nah Mommy’s sled. Nah Daddy’s sled. Nah Gwamma’s sled. Nah Nanny’s sled. Nah Unk Gweg’s sled. Nah Gabby’s sled. Nah Pattie’s sled. ONY Blen’s sled.”