A friend related this:

During his bath the other night, the spousage went into the room adjacent to put the radio on. Tuned to the local jazz station, a joyful vibraphone tune filled the air.

“What’s that?” asked The Toddler.

“That’s the radio,” I explained.

“No, it’s not,” countered The Toddler. “It’s jazz.”

***

On Saturday, my kid and I were at the local drug store, picking out wrapping paper for his Grandpa’s birthday present, when he got a cross-legged, worried expression come over his little body. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he told me. When the Kid admits he’s gotta go, he’s really gotta go. I dithered between just putting down our potential purchases and hot-footing it to the nearby coffee shop for a Potty Emergency Pitstop and trying to buy our stuff before running to the bathroom. The kid wandered down the aisle, but quickly came back, beaming a thrilled smile and weaving through the crowded store.
“Hey, mama, guess what?” he chirped in a loud, bright voice. “I didn’t really have to go to the bathroom! I didn’t have to poop! I just had to FART! Isn’t that great?”

He was slightly confused when seven grown ups burst out laughing.

***

The Kid got to go see the IMax movie, Fighter Pilot, with his grandfather today. At one point, the voiceover was describing how a training exercise was going to switch from dummy ammunition to live rounds; my son apparently was rather alarmed and said to the folks around him, “That doesn’t sound like one of those Bad Ideas.”