So Sunday I was driving him over to my mother, who is eighty years old, and as I unbuckle him from his car seat, he says, “Come on Robin let’s get out of the Bat mobile.”
So in my stern voice, wondering how my mother is going to handle him, I said, “I don’t want you jumping around at Nonna’s.”
So he replies in a breathy, rebellious whisper, “OK. I’m going to FLY around," with emphasis on "fly."
All I know is when I got back to pick him up he said he “scored ninety goals on Nonna.” I can just imagine what went on.