“I found you, Mom.” This was one of the first things said to me this morning. I suppose it’s not the quote itself that is worth mention, but the fact that it was said to me by a small, 2 1/2 year-old boy who was peering at me through the hole of a used paper towel roll, and who was pant-less…and underwear-less, and diaper-less. The kid had nothin’ on his bottom half.

“Good morning to you too, Robby.”

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“Thank you, Baby Ankylosaurus.”

“I’m not Baby Ankylosaurus anymore! I metamorphosized into Iron Man when I turned 20!”

Clearly I need not explain this one.

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“I have to go poop.” This was said, simultaneously, by both boys. Because, did you know, they poop at the same time? Every day. Pooping in this house is an event for these two boys, an event in which they participate together. Once pooping time is declared, all boys scatter to their preferred spot. Minutes later I hear, “I’m doooooo-ooone.” Simultaneously.

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Upstairs I can hear them playing. Sam has enabled Robby’s climb to the top of his dresser. There he sits.

And Sam is saying, “Wobby, you’re going to have to stay up there for 72 days.”

Silence.

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“I wuv you too, Sam.”

“I love you too, Wobby.”

“Yanks, Sam.” (thanks)

This last was said as they sat up against each other, transfixed by the screen as Sam played MarioKart Wii.

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“No! No more boxes on each others heads!” Yeah. That last one’s mine.