S and I went out for dinner the other day and overheard a little boy say to his mom, “Thank you, Mommy, for everything.” I was like, “Awww… did you hear that? That is soooo sweet!” S, with his super ears, said, “You didn’t hear him get prodded?” So this is how the whole conversation went:
Dad: What do you say?
Kid: Thank you.
Dad: Who are you thanking?
Kid: Thank you, Mommy.
Mom: What are you thanking me for?
Kid: Thank you, Mommy, for everything.
Hahaha! 
Month: November 2008
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This is sooo funny!
It makes me smile every time I see it.
click
But when I have my own kids one day, no one better teach this to them.
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Most of the CDs in my car are Korean or Chinese.
It’s very sad though b/c I love to sing along to music but I can’t sing in Korean or Chinese. I’ll know certain words or phrases, but it’s just not satisfying enough. I want to sing the whole song, every single word. It’s like going to a party, but you can’t join in on all the fun. It’s also like being a bystander that tries to butt in every now and then.
I don’t listen to music radio much anymore. It’s mostly talk radio or the CDs. I’m not familiar with the new music that’s out so I can’t sing along with the radio either. Well, unless I tune to the stations that play the older stuff. But then the other day, I was so excited to hear Boys II Men on the radio… I was getting ready to belt it out… but the words slipped from my mind. Oh man! On “End of the Road?!” Sad!
Do you know what I mean about it being such a JOY to sing out every syllable… correctly? Super extra points for getting the right notes, too. Mega huge points if it’s from memory. It’s like, for those few minutes, you’re in sync with the world. -
Don’t you love being welcomed home?We used to do that with our Dad. When we hear the garage door open, we knew it was him. So we’d run to the door and open it for him. Then we’d see him coming out of his car, and we’d excitedly call out, “Baba!”. He always had a smile for us, even if he look dead tired sometimes. I think I did this up until I moved out when I got married.Our garage is too cluttered to park a car but S parks in a designated spot right in front of our place. I know he’s home when I hear metal go *ka-lunk-kunk*. It’s the sound of his car driving over this man-hole-like-cover thing. Before he’s out of the car, I’m already peeking out the blinds from upstairs. I’d see him getting his stuff from the back seat or hear him talking on the phone… then he’d start to stroll in and I will whistle at him like a construction worker.
Too bad he can’t hear my car driving in. But sometimes when I open the door and say “I’m home!”, he’ll come down to find me or call out ”Welcome home!” It’s nice to be acknowledged; to know someone is happy you’re home.
