Dinner Conversation

Charlie: Is this my ketchup?

Mommy: Yes. It's our ketchup, it's your ketchup and my ketchup and Daddy's ketchup.

Charlie: It's our ketchup? And we keep it in the fridge.

Daddy: Yes. That's where our food goes.

Charlie: What's that? (pointing at a bottle of beer)

Mommy: That's my beer.

Charlie: Is it our beer?

Mommy: No, it's my beer. Beer is just for adults.

Charlie: No, it came from the fridge, so it's our beer. I want some of my beer.

(Note: He settled for apple juice. Same colour as beer, and also, satisfyingly, from the fridge.)

Ho Ha Hee

And, of course, Easter eggs.

More Ho

We ran out of cookies.

Luckily, Santa likes hot dogs, too.

Ho Ho Hooey

The Santa craze continues.

It's March.

I thought we were past it, I really did. It's been weeks since Charlie has asked to make presents out of playdoh, or compelled me to play the part of Prancer, or even tried to climb up on the roof to search for evidence of a sleigh.

Yesterday, out of the blue, he said, "Where's Santa Claus? I miss him," with a heavy sigh. "Ah well, he's making presents at the North Pole. So it's okay. But I miss him."

Today he concocted a beverage for Santa, made from flour, water, and a healthy dose of Abuelita syrup (yes, it's our secret Nestle shame). He put it out with a plate of chocolate cookies, then wandered off in a deliberately casual manner. `Cause you never know.

I thought about disabusing him from his jolly notions, but who am I to go up against the Big Guy? And after all... the cookies were delicious.