Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Conversation Walking Home (or why I know I'm raising a boy)

Tonight as we were walking home from Music Class, JR told me that his hands were cold.

Me: Where are your mittens?
JR: In my pocket.
Me: Why don't you put them on?
JR: Because they have spit on them.
Me: How did they get spit on them?
JR: Well, we found a brown thing that looked kind of like a dead snail, and we buried it. (Aside: how does he know what a dead snail looks like?)
Me: And the spit? ...
JR: Well, we put sticks and leaves and stones and grass on the brown thing when we buried it.
Me: Did you put spit on it too?
JR: No Mom! We put the spit under the snail.

Later, when I asked him to recount the incident with the snail for his dad, JR said:
Mom, it wasn't a snail. It wasn't moving. And it was brown like peanut butter.

I don't even want to know.

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