Our weird life.

Irrefutable logic
Mommy: What did you do at school today?
Paul: I don't know.
M: what do you mean you don't know - you were there?
P: I don't know what I don't know. I only know what I know.

Good News/Bad News
Good news: Joss told me (as he was naked after his bath, and while pointing to his penis) that he had an "uh-oh."
Bad news: He didn't tell me where.
Good news: I found the puddle.
Bad news: I was barefoot. *sigh*

Planning for the Future
Paul: I know who I'm going to marry!
Mommy: Oh, really? Who?
P: I'm going to marry Aunt Margie, when we're all growed up.
M: Sorry to break it to you, kid, but Aunt Margie is already going to marry her friend, Jason. remember, we saw him at Passover?
P: Oh. *thinks* Well, then, I'm going to marry . . . Grandma!
M: Sorry, kiddo, Grandma is married to Grandpa.
P: Well. I'll marry Safta!
M: You're striking out, Paul. Safta is seeing someone else.
*Paul looks very dejected*
M: Maybe you can marry my friend, Jodi (sorry, Jodi!)
P: *brightens* Oh! Oh, I will marry Jodi!

(Jodi - in 14 years, he's all yours!)

Next on Hoarders
Joss had been moaning for his binky (Na-na. Na-na na-na. Na-na-na. *whimper* Na-na?) the entire 5 minute drive home from daycare.

We got in the door, and he ran over to the drawer where we keep them, anxiously waiting for me to put down the mail and open the damn drawer already. I took out one of the two binkies that was in there, and he took it, shook his head, placed it on the counter, and looked up at me. "Na-na? Na-na. Na-na!"

I took out the other binky, and the same scenario happened. I raised my hands in the international sign for "I ain't got no more" and said, "Joss - there aren't any more binkies in there." He scrunched up his face, then turned to my SodaStream gizmo . . . pulled up the drip tray, and there hidden in the space beneath the well was - finally! - a satisfactory binky.

Like, Totally
Part of Paul's routine is after he's had stories read to him, and his lullaby sung, he likes to look at read books by the ambient hall light for a while until he gets properly sleepy. I'm in the kitchen, trying to clean up from dinner while watching Lost - not as easy as it sounds.

Paul: Mommy? Mommmy? Mom? Mommy?
Mommy: (rushing to the stairs) What's the matter, baby?
P: I can't find the A to Z.
M: What?
P: I can't find the A to Z. Can you find it?

I go into his room, turn on the light, figure out which book he means (Sandra Boynton's "A to Z" as opposed to the gatrillion other ABC books he has), and begin digging through the book piles. After a few minutes of shifting the strata, I find the perennial classic in question on his night table.

M: Is this what you were looking for?
P: (grabs book and turns to climb back on the bed). Yes! You TOTALLY found it, Mommy!