Two weekends ago, I was in Wisconsin, on a business thing. The day we arrived, I called home to check in with my almost-4-year old, Jake.
"Um, Dad? Where is you?"
I'm in Wisconsin, son, on a big ol' bus.
"Um, Dad? Yer in Consin? On a
school bus??"
No, Jake, I'm on a different kind of bus. I'll send you a picture of it when I get off.
"Don't get off afore it stops!"
Cut to this past Thursday. Jake and I are taking a walk in the neighborhood, and a plane goes by overhead.
"Look, Dad! A airplane!"
'AN airplane,' Jake.
"'Swat I said, Daddy. A airplane."
You're right, buddy. Hey, you know, I was just on a airplane last week.
"You were? Why was you on it?"
I went to Wisconsin, remember?
"Yeah. On a plane to Consin. When you was gone, I went to KID-Consin, and it was just little boys and little girls, and we was on a airplane, too."
Yeah? Coo-ooool, buddy. Did you have a nice trip?
"Yeah, Dad, better than you..."
He does this kind of thing all the time. Sometimes it scares me.