our country boy

grant loves the country music station. i'm not sure if it's the simple melodies ("twang, twang, twang"), the simple subject matter (what little boy wouldn't love a station that follows a song about john deere tractors with a song about fishing?), or the simple fact that it's his dad's favorite music, but grant can't get enough.

i strap him into his carseat and then it's, "mom, can we listen to wheels on the bus?" "no, sorry grant, remember that CD is at oma's house. we need to remember to get it next time." "ok, then can we listen to the dodgers?" (he is his father's son, after all.) "no, sorry grant, they lost to the phillies, remember? they're out until spring." "oh, ok. then country music."

the other day, grant and i were listening to country and a song came on with a chorus something like, "thank god i'm a country boy."

i asked grant, "are you a country boy?"

his answer: "no, i'm not a country boy." [pause for deep thought.] "i'm a beach boy. but not one that goes in the water."

another favorite recent grant-ism: he had been in time-out, probably for launching one of paige's toys across the room for the bazillionth time, and we were going over what he'd just done wrong. he started listing other things that were bad. "hitting is bad. and kicking. and throwing toys. and pulling flowers off of plants. and when you take your food at school and pretend to use it as a gun - that's bad."

um, yes grant. that is bad. boys and their guns! where does it come from???