I cannot even keep up with constant stream of ridiculously funny things that Liam is saying lately. I find all of this so charming – a large part of it is the perky, bee-boppin’ delivery. He strides with confidence through this world, even though sometimes it means he hugs a total stranger or injures himself with his enthusiasm and lack of fear (case in point, a couple of days ago he lost two fingernails at school because he was riding his bike with abandon, and that somehow landed him in urgent care. Shudder.) We worry about our second child a bit more than the other two, because he is so fearless. But his fearlessness also makes him delightful in a lot of ways – open, funny, confident, and always very, very verbal.
I’ve started emailing myself when he says something hilarious, so I can remember. Here are a few of our recent conversations.
In the car on the way home from school:
* * * * several seconds go by * * * *
* * * * more time passes * * * *
L: HEY! GOD!
Me: What are you hollering about, Liam?
L: Shhh, Mom. I’m waiting for God to answer.
Me: That’s not how it works, dude.
L: SHHHHHHHHHHH be quiet.
* * * * a little later once he finally accepted that no booming voice from the sky was going to say “Yes, Liam” * * *
L: Why doesn’t God answer me?
Me: He’s busy.
L: Yeah, but he’s everywhere. There’s God in the sky, and God in the trees, and God in the rocks, and God in the grass . . . no wait, no God in the grass. But God everywhere else, so why isn’t he talking to me?
Me: Really? No God in the grass?
L: Because we step on grass, mom. Duh.
At the pool:
L: Dad! Don’t take me out to the steep end!
At night before bed:
The Prof: Have you got everything for bed Liam? Milk, pjs, puppy?
L: Milk, Check! Pjs, Check! Puppy, Not Check!
And his greatest trick (I think he learned this from his father – when you think you might be in “trouble,” start throwing out the compliments!):
Me (mad at him for whatever reason): Liam, you’re about to go in time out. Stop doing [insert whatever he is doing].
L (sidling up to me with a wounded dog look): Mom, I just can’t be good because I love you soooooooo much, because you are soooooooo beautiful, and your hair looks great.