Yes, he’s my son.

Dean and I have lots of inside jokes about “whose” kids we’re raising.  For example, if one of them says something super intellectual, I’ll say “see Dean, he’s just like his mom.”  If they are doing lots of inappropriate bodily functions, I’ll say, “You’re just like your daddy!”  When they over-dip their chips, Dean looks at me and mouths, “they get it from their momma!”  Whenever they act wild and rowdy we “nicely disagree” over whose DNA contributed to those actions.

As we emptied Landon’s schoolwork folder this week, I read through his work assignments.  He had a math paper, some art work and two stories.  I quickly read his stories and passed them to Dean saying, “yep, he’s my son.”

Lwrite1

What would you grow in your garden?  I’d grow chocolate bunnies because they taste yummy.

 
Lwrite2

Landon’s poem:  “Taste.  I like sweet mangoes.  I like sour lemons. I like spicy onions.  I like salty pickles.  I like juicy watermelon.  I like oily chips. (!!)  I like delicious cake.”

Only my son would write so eloquently about the food he eats. No need for a DNA test, this boy is just like his mom!

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