So, earlier this week, Max and I were beading. (That’s right, beading. My boy likes his baubles. Only when my father is around do I feel shameful about it. The rest of the time I swell with pride and hopefulness. It WILL color his future, I know it. He will either be a very Orthodox priest, not afraid of a little man lace and embroidery OR it will make his future bride and daughters very happy. Either way.)
He kept wanting to hold up our respective strands and see whose was longer (see?? ALL boy there!). After doing this for the bajillionth time and he dropping his nearly finished string 17 times, he finally said, to himself, “Crap. Crap. Crapity crap-balls.”
I tried to contain my laughter and pride. That’s my boy! With MY favorite phrase! How I love him.
P.S. The finished piece of fabulous pony-bead plastic was a beauty and was bestowed with much love on Jac who promplty put it on (because he IS a real man) and wore it (albeit under his polo) to give a talk that night.
