We took a late afternoon trip to the Children's Museum today, a brave adventure given that the museum is located at the mall. But we parked and got in with no mall hassle. As soon as we got there, Edward had to go to the bathroom (despite having just gone before leaving home.) As I headed toward the door to the women's bathroom, Edward stopped and said, "No, Mom, this is the boys' one" pointing at the other door.

Amused, I asked, "Well, how do you know it's the boys' one?"

"Because it says right there, B-O-Y," said Edward, age three years and 51 weeks.

The signs also had the standard white male and female character drawings (female denoted with triangular skirt.) Is it too much of a stretch to say he actually read the word "Boy?"

In other linguistic news, I've been meaning to chronicle some of Daniel's lexicon here. One of the funniest recent ones is that he refers to ambulances as simply "amb."
"I see amb right dere Mommy wih lights on."

Another source of endless amusement is the substitution of an "f" sound for many an "s." This list includes fwippers (slippers), fwoman (snowman), fool bus (school bus, ironically) and fweeper (sleeper), and creates a bright morning when he declares while rubbing his eyes against first light: "I eat cereal-milk in my fweeper."

He often initiates a "yes I am" - "no you're not" exchange with Edward, who can not be persuaded that Daniel is only trying out words and does not mean to engage in a debate to the death over whether or not we've just driven past another "fool bus." However, he sometimes stumbles over the grammar during a heated debate with his brother, as the other morning while driving past a construction site when he shouted, "Yes I AM see the crane, Edward!"

Since I believe I am Constitutionally required to include photos with these posts, here are a few left over from the last week or so.


Here we see our genius sons attempting to put their ornament stockings on their feet.


Here we see why we're eagerly anticipating a hand-me-down sled from Gram and PopPop next week.

Here we see a favorite post-snow activity, one of the few television options they have that includes commercials. When the program is interrupted, they call to me in the kitchen (or wherever I'm accomplishing life's tasks while they're entertained) "Commercial, Mom, please hurry!" (The later after they were admonished against the use of "Hurry UP, Mom" when I delayed a moment after the call so as not to scorch our dinner. We were not amused.)