Apparently we're raising Beaver Cleaver

Since the sun came out and has stayed out for the past month, I've been happy as a clam. I voluntarily do hard labor out of doors, such as gardening, and scrubbing and repainting our front porch by myself. Yesterday evening I had the wild and wacky idea of driving all the way out to Chick-fil-A for ice cream.

We hopped in the truck and took the scenic route, down a long and winding road past several farms and two or three houses Noah and I consider favorites.

"Mommy, where you goin'?" Ethan asked.

"We're all going to go get ice cream."

"Oh, gosh! Me love ice cweam! And balloon?"

"Sure, we can ask them if they have a balloon."

"Me love balloon."

"I know you do, sweetheart."

"Nana's house?"

"No, we're not going to Nana's house. We're going to go get ice cream."

"Oh, gosh!"

I have no idea where he learned "oh, gosh." Because in our house, we only use the really bad curses.