I’m a hot mom.
Gosh Lori, that’s kind of conceited.
No, really it’s not. I don’t think I’m a hot mom…my 8-year-old son thinks I’m a hot mom.
Gosh Lori, that’s kind of creepy.
No, really it’s not. It may sound creepy like a Greek tragedy. Or a 5 hour Lifetime movie. But trust me, it’s not. Read on….
R: You’re a hot mom!
Me: Thank y-….wait, what did you say?
R: You’re a hot mom.
Me: Hot mom? Where did you hear that? I know, you heard your father ask me when Hot Mom Day at the pool was, didn’t you?
Me: Why would you say I’m a hot mom? What do you think “hot” means?
R: That’s the grown up way to say you’re pretty.
(OK, all together now: Awwwww! How sweeeet!)
R: You’re the hottest mom in the world!
(One more time: Awwwww! How sweeeet!)
Me: Really? I had no idea that I was the hottest mom in the whole world!
R (ponders his last statement): Welllll, maybe not the whole world. But definitely the hottest mom in Chicago!
So, there you have it.
I am the hottest mom in the whole world Chicago.
Who am I to argue with an 8-year-old?