Snuggling up with us in bed, apparently too close to our morning breath: “Mama, your face sinks. Dad, your face stinks too.”
On a 70-degree day: “I need to wear these gloves. Otherwise I will be too cold.”
In the bathtub: “You have to wash your tickytocks. Otherwise they will be stinky.”
To Baby Rosie: “You have to stay in your bed. Otherwise you cannot watch ‘Dora.’”
About 20 thousand times in reference to any wrapped item: “Is that for me? Can I open it?”
After demanding that I “make it dark so Baby Rosie can sleep,” unsatisfied by my explanation that the blinds were as closed as they get, then fooled by Jason's remedy of opening the blinds and closing them again exactly as they were before, smugly: “See, Dad knows how to do it.”