I hear it a lot around here. Only it is reversed, turned into a nonchalant, breezy rejection.
Thank you Phoenix. You have taught us that we care too much about too many things.
We should take your advice, and dial back the caring.
Isabella: It's OUR room! Get out! You're making a mess!
Phoenix, easy, breezy: I can't care it's your room. I can't care about a mess.
Cole: Phoenix! Stop hitting me with that bat!
Phoenix, nonchalantly: I can't care I'm hitting you. I can't care it's your bat.
He has been through so many names already, right? Mr. Big, Todzilla, Noonie...
And now I add a new one. Kookaburra. From the song, only he does not sit in a tree, though he does demand Save More For Me! It has a nice ring, as in, hey you little kookaburra, stop throwing shoes!
He throws his head back and laughs maniacally. He is boy, he is Kookaburra, and I may stow him away in the top of a gum tree if I can ever find one. Just to keep him safe, you know.
Safe from the Mommy who wants to stop all of his kookaburra-ing, wild antics and hear him from the distance of a tall tree some days.
Mommy: Phoenix, stop pestering everyone. Find a hobby, because this is not it.
Phoenix, pointing a sassy finger: Pester! Pester! I'm sure pestering. I'm sure gonna get those kids. I tell you! I tell YOU I'm getting them!
It is his world, that bold Kookaburra, and we better just do what he wants, so no one gets hurt.
Cause when the Kookaburra goes all Cuckoo, no one escapes unscathed...
I've been away, and out of the blog zone. Blame it on the Kookaburra. No, seriously. It's all him. I'll get my fall routine going and be back!