Every spring a bird builds a nest in this pitcher. No, I have no clue how a Tupperware pitcher ended up sitting on the carport shelf. Probably had something to do with a man who has no concept of how much things cost. I couldn’t get close enough to see if there are eggs, but nothing has hatched, because we can hear them after they’ve hatched.
I told B I needed food and said he’d fix me a sandwich. Then I remembered that he can’t reach my peanut butter (I have separate peanut butter so it doesn’t get gluteny bread crumbs in it).
Me: Thank you, though. You’re very sweet.
B: Yes, I am, aren’t I?
B: Do poptarts have gluten?
B: I thought so, because they taste good.
Me: yeah, that’s pretty much the criteria.
I was putting sprinkles in B’s ice cream.
B: Mama, “sprinkles” reminds me of “springles”.
Me: What are springles?
B: You know, the chips.
Me: Those are Pringles, baby.
B: I know what milageses [mirages] are, but what is a salutionation?
Lovely conversation before I even had my eyes open this morning:
B: I’ll always love everybody in this family, even when they’re dead.
Me: I think you have a while before you have to worry about that.
B: well, Daddy’s almost there. He’s 51.
Sad, yet amusing.
J asked why I moved a set of cups to a different cabinet.
“I didn’t. Daddy did. I guess they didn’t fit over there.”
“Why did he move them? They fat there just fine.”
“What what? Sit and sat so fit and fat.”