A few weeks back, Wyatt and I cycled home from the doctor's, and we went by some horse pastures that were flooded.
Wyatt: Holy ships Mommy, water!
Mommy: what?
Wyatt: Holy ships! Water! Holy ships!
Holy schmoly. It is the end of innocence. I tried to teach him that "schmoly" would be okay, but maybe not "ships." Only problem is, "holy ships" has entered the grown ups' vernacular, and we seem to use it every day.
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