Robert is obsessed with numbers now. He likes to ask me how old I was in the past, which isn't so bad, but I really hate when he tells me how old I'll be, oh say, twenty years from now. "Oh Mommy, you're going to be 60!" he crows.
Banned from the YMCA
It hasn't come to that, but Bobby did: disrupt the "Mat Rats" class by his usual tomfoolery, bean a girl on the head with a hard plastic toy, swipe a piece of chocolate from a little boy, and was about to swing another hard plastic toy around his head when I finally caught up with him. This all was after the morning, when, in the cold rain, he decided to lead me on a chase around the preschool parking lot. At dinner I announced I was running away to join the circus. Bobby replied, "Mommy, you don't have to run. You can just drive your car to the circus."
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