Short-term memory loss

Lately, Samson's bedtime ritual has included throwing La-La [a sort of hybrid lamb doll/dishrag that smells like the day of judgment no matter how many times we wash it] and his sippy cup out of the crib.

Upon completion of this action---which, if you're present, he narrates by looking you square in the eye and saying "throwing"---he then begins screaming for said discarded items to be returned to him. Immediately.

I was never a big fan of the Road Runner vs. Wile E. Coyote cartoons, and this runs along the same script. Which is to say that once is kind of annoying. But after the first 11 times, it gets to be really tiresome. Particularly since this is now becoming a bookend activity, with him not only closing out the day with it but beginning it in this fashion as well.

At 5:38 this morning, we heard "La-La. La-La! MOM-EEE. MOM-MEEEEEE." Roughly translated, this is the 19-month-old's version of "Good God. What have I done? Oh the humanity!" Good times.

In other early morning news, N arrived this morning wearing cologne.

The reason? He has a field trip today.

Because Samcrankypants needed a little downtime this morning, Vicki took him up to his room to read some stories. Which meant I had breakfast with N. By myself.

It wasn't exactly My Dinner with Andre, but it had its moments.

This is an actual exchange from the breakfast table this morning:

N: "How old is your cat?"

Me: "We got him in 1997, when he was probably already a year, so I think he's almost 10."

N: "Wow, how old are you?"

Me: "I'm 33; I'll be 34 in June."

N: "How old were you in 1998? That's when I was born."

Me: "I was 26."

N: "I knew that. You know how I knew that? I counted backwards from 2006 to 1998."

Me: "That's really good. How old are you?"

N: "I'm supposed to be 8, but my mom says I'm 7."

Me: "Oh."