Actual text conversation yesterday:
Me: Little G informs me he’s going to use his new binoculars to “spy on baby Ian’s mom.” Little Creeper!
Me: If it makes you feel any better, it’s so he can find out what you’re getting Ian for his birthday.
Me: That child is getting cut off from Curious George.
Rachel: Hahahahaha! Holy crap, that’s hilarious.
Rachel: Aren’t you proud of your little peeping tom?
Me: FYI, You’re getting baby Ian a very big big big box. Inside that box? A blue go-cart.
Rachel: Good to know!
Me: You really ought to get him something more age-appropriate. What is WRONG with you?
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We visited my brother in St. George and just got back yesterday. This morning Little G said, “I miss my uncle.”
“I miss your uncle too, but he’ll be visiting soon.”
“No, my other uncle.”
“Which uncle, buddy?” Car has six brothers, so saying his “other uncle” wasn’t necessarily unreasonable.
“My uncle in the mountains.”
I stopped and thought about every one of Little G’s uncles. “You don’t have an uncle who lives in the mountains.”
He looked at me as if my IQ had suddenly dropped 80 points. “Yes I do. My uncle in the mountains. I go and visit him. He lives in a cave in the mountains.”
“Little G, you don’t have an uncle who lives in a cave. If you’ve been visiting someone in a cave in the mountains something is very wrong.”
This, of course, prompted a five-minute dialogue on his visits to his uncle in the cave in the mountains, including all the animals he’d seen. (Fun fact: there are apparently flamingos in the cave in the mountains!)
Oh, Little G. You adorably creepy boy. Never, ever change.