T Says...

It's not that I've nothing to say, truly I do. It's just that I have so much to say I am not sure where to begin. I promise to get back to blogging on a regular basis one day. In the meantime, a couple quick tidbits from my child.

ONE
This morning as we drove to school, we witnessed a drug bust in action. It happened on one of the busiest streets in town; a police car, followed by two unmarked police cars zip right around our trusty Subaru and into the driveway of a house conveniently positioned by a stop light that takes forever. Multiple large men in bullet proof vests surround the home within seconds, and we sit at the stoplight watching as they pound on the door, hands on their guns.

T: Woah man, this is JUST like CSI.
Me: What are you talking about, you have never seen CSI.
T: Details, mom. Details.

TWO
It's president's week. T has therefore been studying the governmental structure of the United States and president's for the past couple weeks. It has been fun having him quiz me on all sorts of useless facts about our government and listening to him giggle as I know so pathetically few of the answers.

The unit wraps up, I found as I scrounged through the kid's backpack this weekend, with a large project on a president of the child's choice whereby they will do extensive research, create a clay bust of their president, and give a report. The majority of said project is homework. So T and I had a discussion about which presidents might be interesting for this project: READ, which presidents MOM might find interesting to HELP research. I told him unequivocally that if he were to select George W. Bush, that he'd be flying solo on this project. I half meant it.

Yesterday was president-picking day, and when I picked him up my first question for T was:

So...what president did you get?

T: Oh man mom, you don't want to know.
Me: Come on. Tell me. Who?
T: George Bush
Me: You're kidding me. How did this happen? You know I am not helping now, right?
T: Well, I got the OLD George Bush at least mom. I tried.
Me: Too bad, I'm still not helping. I will NOT make a clay bust of George Bush in MY house.

He ponders this for awhile, and I ponder telling him I will help anyways. But because I am hopped up on adrenaline from a good workout, and I love watching the kid squirm, I hold my ground. Eventually, T gives in. He giggles and concedes defeat:

T: Actually, I got Jimmy Carter. NOW will you help?
Me: Yesssss!
T: I could have gotten the dude who was too fat to fit in the bathtub. But there was NO WAY I was gettin' George Bush.

Grandma is WAY more gullible than you, by the way. She believed me for over half an hour!

So, I ask you: who is "the dude/president who was too fat to fit in the bathtub?"