My son got mad at me today and started talking like a baby, "I'm sick of you always telling me what to do! I'm weaving!"
Stop that now. You're nine. No baby talk.
He continues, "You can't stop me from weaving. I'm weaving forever."
Then, with the slightest smirk, this sarcastic mini-me goes into his book bag pulls this out and starts weaving..
I gotta hand it to him. He got me. My own smartass personality coming back to haunt me :)