You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

Tonight I indulged in a little snuggle time with my four year old.  She’s my drug of choice lately when I need to unwind.

She was being particularly silly and winsome.  (Seriously, is there anything more charming than a small child trying to delay bedtime with their story telling abilities?  I think not.)

After she told me a particularly gripping, yet hilarious account of a chicken nugget far from his home, I kissed her forehead and said, “Good night my little nutball.”

“Oh Mom, you say that every night!” scolded Eden shaking her head, “But you really mean meatball because everybody knows there’s no such thing as a nutball.”

Oh my little meatball, sleep tight.  And never, ever grow up.

 

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One Response to You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

  1. Oh, the little things in life.

    I once told Brooke that I get lost in her eyes. (Debbie Gibson’s ballad began playing in the back of my head, of course.) She looked at me and said, “And I could get lost in your teeth. And in your hair. And behind your ear.”

    Kids. Such little meatballs.

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