Baylor: Mommy, I need to ask you a question.
Me: Okay, what is it, buddy?
Baylor: How old are you?
Me: I am thirty-two years young. (smiling to myself)
Baylor: Young? Are you old or young?
Me: What do you think I am, Baylor?
Baylor: (after thinking for a bit) Young.
Me: Aww thanks, buddy!
Baylor: Yeah, young because you don't know a lot of stuff.
Me: Ohhhh, okay. (sufficiently taken down a notch)
Amalia: And I wish our car had legs so it could walk!
Me: That's funny!
Amalia: Speaking of which ... (pauses) I have a witch.
(As we were doing laundry together ...)
Amalia: (holding up one of my clean bras by the straps) Mommy, is this where your arms go?
Amalia: (grabbing the back of the bra) And what about this?
Me: That goes around your back.
Amalia: (wrinkling her nose a bit and squishing the cups) Where do these go?
Me: (smiling) Right here. (gesturing at my chest)
Amalia: Ohh, they go on your bumps. I got it.