Small Boy has been hinting for some weeks now that he's getting kind of sweaty. Well, duh, it gets hot in the summer and we're out riding bikes and gardening and using our bodies. "No," he says, he's sweating because he's "becoming a teenager. Want to smell my underarms?" he inquires pertly? I have always replied the same thing, "No, you're not
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I was kissing his tiny chubby toes last night. They will never REALLY turn into big stinky man-feet, will they? These miniature round pink dimpled things?
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(Grey's kid sometimes simply REEKS. I was pleasantly surprised when he bathed just before a visit this week--and as he's rising thirty, it's about damned time.)
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