Like Mother, Like Son

I'm a reader. I read and read and read, until I fall asleep over the pages of my favorite books. Our little Mason has the same interest. Learning to read has been great for him. No more fear of the dark. Instead he sits in the incandescence spilling from his table lamp (which he calls a lantern) and reads until his breathing slows, his eyelids close and he drifts off to dreams.

 He's a sweet, quiet boy who I can spend hours and hours with. We have many a shared if dull moment in our days. So for these I will forgive him for this:

On my birthday he looked down at my bare feet and said with great disgust, "Ewwwwww. Look at your feet."

I looked down and said, "What's wrong with them?"

He then regarded them with further distaste and said, "They're old."

It had been a rough week of reconciling my age against my health so I said, "They are old! They are 37 years old. But they're clean."

His voice softened ever so slightly and he said with an air of dawning understanding, "Oooohhhhh, is that why you're so floppy?" Then he slapped my thigh.