Orange work

Couple of years back, Young Son (age 4 or 5?) cut his finger at school doing the "orange work", where they practice cutting & squeezing oranges. The teacher called and suggested I get it checked since they weren't quite sure whether it needed a stitch.

On the way to the ER, I was trying to gently prepare Young Son for what might transpire, since he was notoriously awful in unexpected situations like that. I gave a brief synopsis of what the doctor might do, including looking at the cut (he wouldn't let me look at it when I picked him up), washing it, maybe some medicine and a stitch, and then the magic bandage which makes all boo-boos better instantaneously. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.

He considered what I'd said, and stated

"Mom, I don't want to see a doctor that's toolish."

HUH?

I asked him what that meant. He replied, dead serious,

"I want to see a doctor that's lookish, not toolish."

How in hell do you keep a straight face at a comment like that?

I sometimes get nostalgic for the days when his command of the language combined with his overactive imagination to produce some amazing blogfodder. Then I remember that now he can wipe his own rear.