I’m worried about my 4-year-old.
Last night when Steven was changing Jack’s diaper, somehow, the little devil squirmed his way to freedom. He ran down the hall, laughing all the way, leaving us with an adorable view of his chubby buns. Steven groaned and I said, “Go chase’em, old man.”
Laurie, who was sitting in the kitchen quiet and invisible, says to herself, “Chasing old men? Chasing old men. HA! Chasing old men!!!”
She will not stop talking about chasing old men.
It’s become a song. “CHAAAAAAASING OLD MEEEEEEN!”
It’s become a tease.
“Tommy, are you chasing old men?”
Her My-Little-Ponies are even in on the action.
“Let’s chase old men, Twilight!”
“Neigh, Pinky Pie.”
It’s really beginning to make me feel uneasy. I’ve told her to stop saying it and I’ve told her why, “it’s weird.”, but that just makes her love it more. And to be honest, it doesn’t bother me too much in the house, but once we’re out those doors, I have no control over it. She could tell people that I chase old men. Or her father chases old men. Or she could actually chase an old man! God help him if she actually caught one!
So, until she is over her chasing-old-men phase, we are confined to this old-man-free zone. Any old men who were planning on visiting this week, please call to reschedule for a time when it’s much safer for you and your frail bones.
Thanks for reading!