No likey pretty girls.

Tonight Oscar and I were snuggling on his bed before reading books.

He kept whispering secrets in my ear. At first I could not understand what he was saying to me, his lips were pressed right on my ear and he was speaking super soft.

After many repeated tries, I finally understood his words.

"Mom, I don't like pretty girls."

"Oh really, how come sweetheart?" I asked him. Slightly perplexed at how he knew the difference between a pretty girl and a not so pretty one (must be innate).

"I just don't."

"Oh. Well, who is a pretty girl?" I ask.

He lowers his head, his eyes bulge out of their sockets, as he forcefully proclaimed, "Well, NOT you."

A howl of laughter exploded from my overly stuffed (with rice crispy treats) belly. A tickle fight ensued, but I could not get him to change his mind.

Yum. I love him.

My fingers smell like basil.

My fingers still smell like basil, and I like it.

The basil plants in my garden were heavy laden with green leaves. So I decided it was time to give them a good "hair cut" and make a couple batches of pesto (Btw, the pesto is yummy, just ask Angus. He couldn't stop eating it.)

Oscar was with me in the garden as I filled my orange bowl to the brim with basil leaves. I was telling him all sorts of tid-bits about basil, and the things you can do with it. After a minute of listening to me, he scrunched up his face and said, "Mom, could you stop? When you are talking about basil it makes my eyes fill with tears and I don't like it."

Well that surely shut me up.

He moved on to catching spiders, and I went back to sniffing my basil infused fingertips.