Tuesday, April 18, 2006


It's a long standing tradition in my family to refer to someone being goofy as a GOOBER. I don't know where it started exactly, but I do remember having lengthy conversations with my now adult niece and nephew about what exactly a goober is and why we chose this word of all words. That has never been established.

However last night, I was trying to put Elyas to bed for the fourth or fifth time. This time he had stuffed his clothes full of balls of every shape and size...big soft squooshy balls, little nerf footballs, golf balls...you get the idea. As I patted him down in the dark, trying to decide if he was concealing any others, he giggled furiously.

"Ya' little goober!" I muttered.
"I'm not a goober, Mommy. I'm a BROTHER."

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