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.