You’re a Kid, Right? Say Something Funny.

A Flat has successfully gone through her first week of Toilet Training 101. While sitting on the pot and waiting for things to happen, we either read a book or sing some songs. One day I sang, Jesus Loves The Little Children, and when I got to the part about all the colors of children He loves, A got really antsy and kept saying something I couldn’t understand. After a few more renditions of the song, I realized she was saying, “…and purple! And purple!”
Let’s not forget all the purple children in the world, people. Jesus certainly doesn’t.

N and A Minor have always had good conversations. I used to want to secretly record them while they were deep in it, especially at bedtime. N would be in his toddler bed and A would be in her crib, squeezing her face between the slats and them both talking like they were solving world hunger or something. A perfect setting for my next children’s book, perhaps- Noah and Abbie Talk at Night. Anyway, they were discussing things again yesterday, after A had started out by asking if you could die from eating too much chocolate. She asks this type of question repeatedly (can you die if…), so I have taken to answering yes all the time, and said that I supposed a person could. N, ever the compassionate evangelist, pointed out to her (he does this repeatedly, too) that if she died, she would go to hell because she isn’t a Christian. He went on to explain that she could talk to Daddy sometime about it, like he did. They got their shoes on and headed outside, N still talking about something, and A still maybe talking about the same something. They are six and four. They may just solve some world problem yet, with this early of a start.

Also yesterday, I came into the dining room to find N beating a dining room chair within an inch of its life, with a dish cloth.
“What are you doing?” I ask, quite curious.
“I’m dusting,” N replies, as if I don’t have all my marbles.
“Oh,” I say. “Why don’t you go dust the windowsills; they look like they need it, too.”
So he walks over and starts beating the sills, too. Where he ever saw someone dust like that I don’t know. I don’t dust enough for him to have seen me do it, so I guess I can’t take the credit.

A Major and Little S come down the hall, talking, having just seen some hamburger thawing on the stovetop. I didn’t hear everything they said, but the conversation ended with, “She must be making tacos. The only other thing she makes is spaghetti, and she already made that this week.” I’m laughing too hard to be offended.

Thanks a lot, folks, we’ll be here all…our lives.

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