Z is for Zane

Zane is my son, my child, my three year old muse. Because he is a child, he can say whatever pops into his head, and it is okay. Sometimes it's pretty funny.

Case in point: On Easter, Zane came down the stairs and saw his Easter basket, full of little presents and chocolate.

"Sayyyyyyyyyyyyyy...the Easter Bunny had a good night!" was my son's response. And yes, he did draw the word 'say' out just like that.


On Wednesday, my husband and Zane were playing 'basketball' in the backyard.

"I love you, Zane," his father tells him.

"I know, Daddy," comes Zane's reply.


Occasionally Zane's statements are a bit strange:

Zane and I are in the bathroom, where he has just finished doing his 'business'.

"Mom, we don't eat poop!"

"Okay son," was all I could choke out. I was caught between horrified and giggling like as if this was a Beavis and Butthead episode.

I just know that he picked that phrase up at daycare.