Our nightly ritual is no less than a "enhanced interrogation" at Guantanamo Bay. For those of you who don't speak fluent Bush, that's torture. We're still conditioning Ridge to sleep in his own bed, no easy feat with the strong-willed, red-haired boy. I tuck him into bed and read him three books, kiss him on his forehead and tell him good night. A few minutes later, his door creeks open, his face peeks out. And then I start the process all over again.
On round # 6 or 7 last night, he drug out the dump truck book. Now, the jest of this tale is pretty simple. Old dude has a dump truck and rides around collecting animals to slosh up and down in it. It's kinda sadistic, really.
As we are reading our nightly stories, I always encourage Ridge to tell me what's happening in the illustrations. So, when the dump truck man arrived at the farm to load up even more animals in his truck, Ridge's eyes grew round and excited. He wanted to to talk about this.
Ridge: Is that boy a cowboy?
Me: Yes. How did you know he is a cowboy?
Ridge: 'Cause he has a hat and boots. He's a real man.
I laughed until my side hurt. Then I went and retold this little exchange to Ridge's cowboy dad, who thought this was the most genius thing he had ever heard.
Oh, don't forget to come back to mommalittle later today. I'm going to post first day of school photos.