Ezra Said Fuck
Bike ride along the river to see boats began the weekend. A couple of trips to the park continued the weekend.
I showed Ezra how to make bridges with his new train set and became the go-to person to fix the train when the bridges fell.
Saturday passed and night came. We slept and woke. Eza was eating a snack at his table in the kitchen during the morning. I stepped on a Matchbox car on the kitchen floor and said, ,,Fuck.”
Then Ezra said, ,,Fuck.” Then he said a bunch of other words that was beyond comprehension as I remembered that I need to say, ,,Fudge sickles.”
The rest of the day was calm sans Ezra’s face plant into some cement that scraped his nose and forehead. I didn’t say fuck and neither did Ezra, but I was thinking it. The scrape on nose later caused Ezra pain when the nectarine juice spread over his nose. He didn’t get stung my the plums juice from the many many plums he ate before dinner tonight.
The day ended with trains and books and no more speaking of the word Fuck.