for the love of conveyor belt sushi

For awhile now Jason and I have been censoring our language around the kid. No, not fuck, shit, goddamn or even bastard. Though I am silently grieving the day I will have to give up those gems, knowing it is just around the corner. Words that must be omitted or spelled in Henry’s presence include tv (spelling doesn’t work so well with that one so we call it the big black box), park, swing and outside, for they will cause an immediate need to have said item absolutely immediately.

Ok, fine. But not so fine is that I am now considering changing my driving habits, or more accurately, routes due to his strong and vocal desires. It started a month or so ago with the library. We used to go to tiny tots reading and play time and Henry loved it. We haven’t gone in awhile, in part due to all of the illnesses we were picking up, but I drive by the Hollywood library with him multiple times a week. And each time he starts saying his word for library (something like bree) first with optimism and then with desperation as we keep driving by. It has only degenerated badly when he is very tired and/or hungry but I have started to dread it. Then, just last week, after a particularly big lunch elsewhere, we drove by Sushi Land and H freaked out yelling “eat!” repeatedly and with dismay when it became clear we weren’t stopping for mediocre but oh so convenient sushi right that minute. What next!?