This afternoon Jacob dictated a story to me about 2 (or 3?) snakes. My mom (Peachie Pooh) came over to visit shortly after this dictation, and here is a summary of the conversation that ensued:
"Hey Jacob what's the coral snake's name?"
Jacob: (in a high pitched voice, holding a stuffed snake) "My name is Tommy"
(grabs stuffed gopher snake) "My name is Vark!"
Peachie: "Why Vark?"
Jacob: "Because he's brown, like a Vark!"
Me: (laughing) "What's a Vark Jake?"
Jake: (not laughing, asks me seriously) "What is it?"
What he's really saying is: "Duh, You're the adult. You should know these things."
A minute later Jacob is on the floor giggling playing with a stuffed squirrel and proclaims to Peachie Pooh: "Fire in the hole!" and toots (fluffs, passes gas, whatever) a resounding toot that could make a grown man jealous. This sort of behavior is frowned upon in our home (I had brothers who continually farted upon each other's heads, and I would like to keep such instances in the past). I tried not to laugh, but the fact that I had no idea where he learned "fire in the hole" with reference to flatulence, cracked me up all the more. The fact that I laughed means there are many more instances of "fire in the hole to come." AHHH! I'm doomed to relive my youth!
Another minute passes and Peachie Pooh asks Jake, "What's the squirrel's name?"
To which Jake responds emphatically, "His name is Nut-Eating Running Brown Thing."
Peachie Pooh: "Must be an Indian Name."
You hate to see that happen to Nut-Eating Running Brown Thing
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