Do I Need to Call...

...the wambulance?

Tonight was the three thousandth time Andrew has asked me that question. I am now declaring that I'm never telling him one more thing again, ever.

As kids, when we'd fall and experience the normal childhood bumps and bruises, my mom would declare:

Do I need to call the wambulance?

At that age, we didn't really realize she was teasing us. We actually *liked* it when the wambulance was called. My mom would start singing, "Dooodoooo, doodoooo, dooodooo," mimicing an ambulance's siren. Then she'd pick us up and run us around the house singing the siren's song. It seemed to make our bumps all better.

In a stupid moment of nestalga, I told Andrew the wambulance story. Now, I will never live it down.

Any time I wack my hand or tell him a story that involves me getting minorly injured, he gets all excited and asks if he can call the WAMBULANCE. Only he adds in the especially long "Wahhhhh."

A few moments ago, he gave my rump a hard pat. It was unexpected, and I yelped. "Did it hurt?" Yes. "Sorry. Does it still hurt?" No. He didn't miss a beat. "Do I need to call the wambulance?!"

Thanks a lot.

Excuse me while I call the wambulance :(