Last night, after Becca put Vincent to bed, he screamed and wailed for an hour at least. As of late he's gotten pretty responsive to me going into his room and discussing with him why he's having a fit, so I took it upon myself to head up the steps and have another of our discussions.
I went into the bedroom and asked him what was wrong. He was obviously happy to see me. He stood up and pointed to his eye. "It's my eye," he said.
"What's wrong with your eye?" I asked.
"It's got all sad in it," was his reply.
And to make his aunt jody happy, today, while playing with this little phone thing that does shapes and colors and speaks in two languages, he did his best to repeat the words he was hearing.
"You need to ask your aunt Jody about that, what that means," I told him. "Aunt Jody speaks Spanish."
"Aunt Jody speaks Spinach," he replied.
Again, these little things make my day. Maybe I'm pathetic. Who cares.
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