As soon as I started telling people where we're going on vacation this year, they started asking, "Have you told Biscuit yet?"
And my answer was always, "No."
They immediately wanted to know why I hadn't told him, to which I would reply, "Biscuit doesn't have a good understanding about time yet, so if I tell him that we're leaving on May 5, he would drive me crazy until May 5 came. 'Is it tomorrow? The day after that? The day after that?'"
So since we're leaving tomorrow, we finally broke down and told him at breakfast today.
And all I can say is that Biscuit is his father's son.
A little over three weeks before Biscuit was born at 4 a.m. on a Sunday morning, my water broke. I quickly climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom to get dressed to go to the hospital. I hit Jeff's foot on my way from the bedroom to the bathroom and told him what was going on.
"Jeff, my water just broke!" I said.
"Oh. Okay," he said. And he slowly climbed out of bed and started getting dressed.
No rush. No panic. No excitement. Just like any other morning.
Like father, like son.
We told Biscuit this morning where we were going, and this was his low-key reaction: