One day last week, I came home from work and Ulysses ran to the door to greet me. "We gotta make shoc'late ship cookies!" he said. "Go to cooking room, Mama. We gotta make shoc'late ship cookies."
So we did exactly that.
"Schoc'late chip cookies are magic," he told me. (A first for that word.)
So I guess he liked them.
Playing a racing video game another day, he told me, "I'm racing, Mama! Race cars are magic."
This morning we were in the "cooking room" working out breakfast. I'd put the kaibosh on his request for a bowl of halved, frozen grapes, or anything else made entirely out of sugar. (Yes, I know it's fruit. Fruit made entirely out of sugar.) So what else, what else? "Would you like some bacon?" I tried.
"Would you like a sandwich?"
"How about a hot dog?"
He looked at me.
"Mama," he said, patiently, "Hot dogs are not magic."