I do just love paying a little closer attention to my kids' chatter. Today at dinner, Jackson's meatballs were too hot so he asked me to blow on them. So like the dutiful mother I sometimes am, I got my face nice and close to those steaming balls of meat (which were slathered in marinara) and gave a few gentle blows.
In the mean time, Jackson was huffing and puffing (sort of like you do with a sneeze... breathe in a bit, a bit more, and a bit more...no exhales between them until your lungs simply cannot hold another molecule of oxygen... Now just add in some dramatic, cartoonish inhale sounds and you've got the picture). With that huge lungful of air, Jackson let loose on his meatballs as though trying to blow the house down. My posture, mind you, has not moved from my gentle blowing. Coming full force at the plate of spaghetti and me is all the wind and spit of a three-year-old.
"Ugh! Jackson, Mommy did NOT like that. There was lots of spit in that blow."
About 10 minutes later, his mind has come full circle and he is talking about spitting in mommy's face. "That was FUNNY!" says he.
"No, Jackson. It was not funny," says I.
"Well it was FUNNY TO MMMEEEEEEE!"
And what do you say to that? Nothing, really. Not then, anyway. Oh, but Davis had something to say about it. He leaned over to me with the back of one hand near his mouth so Jackson's ears might be shielded and whispered, "You can just ignore him, Mom."