Sebastian was checking out our fridge to scope out the breakfast possibilities. He closed the door, walked the the table very matter-of-factly and declared:
"Mom, I need weel cheese."
Okay, so the kid has a bit of a three-year-old boy speech impediment. It's been especially endearing during the holidays, as Fwosty and Wudolph have been in rotation, and I hope I get to hear this little voice for a LONG time. Then I have moments like this...
"Mom, I need weel cheese."
"Real cheese?"
"No, weel cheese."
"Wheel cheese?"
"NO! I need weel cheese like WEEL cheese like CHEESE that is WEEL because it is WEEL and the WEEL cheese is in the fridge!"
"This cheese?"
"Ugh... I guess I'll have ceweal instead."
One day, when he's a gourmet chef, I'll visit his five star restaurant and he'll turn to me and say, in a slightly British accent cultivated from years of culinary study abroad, "Mom? Remember that time I was trying to guide you to a more substantial breakfast? Well, THIS is WEEL cheese."
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