You Do Know How to Whistle Don't You?

Yesterday morning Sprout woke me up at way-too-early-o-clock. This is not a terribly uncommon occurrence usually involving some sort of emergency or something.

Yesterday was no different.

Sprout: Mommy I have sompthin to tell you. It's important.

HG: What?

Sprout: I just learned how to whistle.

Insert a moment or two of groggy (and maybe not terribly gracious) correction. The end result being he went back to bed and did not stand upon the order of his going.

The rest of the day proceeded as normal, or as normal as this household is gonna get, interspersed with Sprout's newly acquired skill. I use the word skill as loosely as possible as his whistling is basically a hum with his lips puckered.

Then came supper. Also as usual, Sprout was dawdling so I was cleaning up while he finished. The "whistle" sounded again. I had heard it so much that I was tuning it right out. (If you do not have talkers, you won't understand, but if you do, you know exactly what I am talking about.)

Sprout: Mommy. MOMMY. MOOOMMMMYYY. (all within .78 seconds)

HG: What's up bud?

Sprout: I was whistling at you. LOOK. Points to his empty milk cup. And sits with an expectant look on his face.

FOR SALE: A pair of four year old lips. Cute and sassy. Going cheap.