Yesterday afternoon, after an exhausting morning at preschool, Lane settled in to my bed for his new pre-nap routine: an episode of Curious George to unwind before going down for a nap in his big boy bed.
Evan, having taken advantage of a brother-free house and taken an extra long morning nap, was no where near settling down. Full of energy, and happy to have his brother home, our babe crawled across the bed, played with the remote control and wiggled his way toward his brother.
Tired, and more interested in a cartoon monkey than his little brother, Lane quickly grew irritated with Evan's shenanigans.
"No, Evan, that's my pillow," he would reprimand.
Or, "No, Evan, I watching George. Don't play with remote."
However, Evan crossed the line when he plopped his pudgy body next to Lane and placed a hand on Lane's knee.
"No, Evan. I have a boo boo there."
The same boo boo he scored more than a month ago at our after movie trip to Old McDonald's with the besties.
The same boo boo he still talks about and shows to just about any one who will take the time to look.
Evan, who could probably care less about a boo boo or might just be sick and tired of hearing about said boo boo, continued his happy-go-lucky roll about game and let out a few sighs and gurgles and even a coo coo.
To which Lane sternly replied, "No, Evan, not a coo coo. A boo boo."
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