Last night at dinner, Grady said to me, "I want some milk, dude." I laughed, but told him I'd rather he didn't call his father dude, but he was welcome to call Liam or his friends dude. "Would you like some milk, dude?" he immediately asked Liam.
I've been teaching him the dangers of smoking for almost a year now. It's progressed to me taunting him in a school bully voice, "C'mon man, it's just a cigarrette. Everyone's doing it, man." He responds with a strong, "I don't smoke!" "C'mon man." "I said I don't smoke. It's bad for you. It makes your lungs sick and your clothes stink. And you have to stand outside in the cold rain." "All right, man. I respect that." He then likes to reverse roles and it's so funny to hear that gangster accent on a four year old.
We bought new plants, gravel and fish for the fish tank. I am trying to soften the fact we need to ship Coltrane to Katy at the end of the month. Grady's been great about it, but some things he said Monday concerned me: "Coltrane bit me, so he has to die." And, "Since he bit me, we have to kill him." I reassured him that, 1) Coltrane was going to LIVE with Aunt Katy, and 2) Coltrane is at fault, not him. He's been so matter of fact about the whole thing so far. I'm waiting for the tears to flow.