Me: I’m thinking of something green.
Simon: A tree!
Me: That’s right! Your turn.

Simon: I’m thinking of something yellow.
Me: Is it something you drive?
Simon: No.
Me: Is it something you play with?
Simon: No.
[Several more questions, all answered with “no.”]
Simon: It’s corn!

Me: Okay, Ian, it’s your turn buddy.
Ian: My turn! I’m thinking ‘bout ants. . . .

Me: Okay. I’m thinking of something red.
Simon: That’s my favorite color!
Me: I know, buddy.
Simon: Is it my lawnmower?
Me: Nope.
Simon: My lawnmower is red.
Me: Yep, but that’s not what I’m thinking of.
[Several more rounds until he guesses correctly.]

Simon: I’m thinking of something brown and bushy. . . .

Ian: My turn! I’m thinking ‘bout my faaavorite color. Broooowwwn.
Simon: I’m thinking of something brown.
Me: [After narrowing it down.] Is it a train?
Simon: It’s not the train, but it’s close. It’s what the train runs on [without waiting for me to guess]: the tracks!

Ian: My turn! I’m thinking ‘bout brown. My faaavorite color.  I’m thinking ‘bout brown trains.

One of the ways that Jason and I are very, very different is in how we approach food. I love to experiment and am ever trying to cajole my family into eating “the same thing” but a more healthful version. Jason is opposite: if he finds something he likes, he sticks with it—he does not see the point in deviating from the tried and true. To his credit, he does always try what I make—and will keep his opinions mostly to himself for the boys’ sake. My latest attempt was (the really delicious, in my opinion) Black Bean Brownies. (FWIW, Jason prefers Betty Crocker’s Frosted Brownies.)

Jason: Interesting.
Me: Do you like it?
Jason: I don’t not like it.
Simon: What did you say?
Jason: I said, “I don’t not like it.”
Simon: What does that mean?
Jason: It’s called “diplomacy.”
Simon: What does that mean?
Jason: It means I’m trying to be nice.
Simon: Oh. It kind of sounds like you don’t like it.
Jason (to me): You’re loving this, aren’t you?

Ian: Knock knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Ian: Owl who?
Simon: [Interrupting] Knock knock!
Me: Who’s there?
Simon: Banana.
Me: Banana who?
Simon: Knock knock!
Me: Who’s there?
Simon: Banana.
Me: Banana who?
Simon: Okay. Laugh this time!
Me: [Laughing.]
Simon: You say, “Knock knock.”
Me: Knock knock!
Simon: Who’s there?
Ian: It’s Mommy! Hi, Mommy.

A summary of our drive home tonight:

Simon: Mommy, let’s do knock knock.
Me: Okay.
[Long pause.]
Simon: You say, “Knock knock.”
Me: [Racking my brain for any knock knock joke I can remember.] Okay, Knock knock!
Simon: No, wait. I’ll say, “Knock knock.”
Me: Okay.
Simon: Knock knock!
Me: Who’s there?
Simon: Wait. You say, “Knock knock.”
[Repeat indecision and confusion about who should start the joke for a full ten minutes.]

Me: Knock knock.
Simon: Who’s there?
Me: Owls.
Simon: Owls who?
Me: Right. Owls hoo!
Simon: I was supposed to say that.
[Repeat various parts of this and the one other knock knock joke I know (banana, banana, banana, orange you glad I didn’t say ‘banana’) for several more minutes, sometimes with Simon starting, sometimes with me starting but no one ever managing a full and correct joke start to finish.]

Simon: Knock knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Simon: Banana!
Me: Banana who?
Simon: Poonie!
Me: What?
Simon: Banana Poonie!
Me: Um. Okay.
Simon: Knock knock!
Me: Who’s there?
Simon: Tractor Poonie!
[Repeat “Poonie” punchline with anything that catches his eye for the next several minutes.]

[I tell the owls joke again and try to explain why it’s funny.]
Ian: Knock knock! Who dare?
Me: Who’s there, Ian?
Ian: Knock knock! Who dare?
Me: Okay, Ian. Knock knock.
Ian: Who dare?
Me: Owls.
Ian: Yeah! [Laughs hysterically.] Knock knock! Who dare? Poonie.
[Repeat all exchanges in random order until both boys fall asleep.]

Simon, after holding Clara for 45 minutes this afternoon: “Mommy, can you take her now? The ankle of my arm hurts, and I’m hot because she’s such a snugglebug.”

Me: What are you working on, Bud?
Sim: I told you—a spaceship. It’s kind of a tricky job.

DPP pics from past years: 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010

Simon has always had quite a bit of hair. And it’s pretty crazy most of the time. It makes for some of the best bedhead ever, and, well, for better or for worse his hipster hair (bottom left) has kind of become his signature look.

Lately, Simon has mentioned a couple of times that “someday” he will shave his head like Daddy does—“When I get a little older, maybe,” he explains. Last night he was curled up next to Jason on the couch and said, “I will shave my head when I get to be a kuhdult [adult].” Jason said that sounded like a good idea. Then Simon added, “Yeah, when I grow up to be a daddy, maybe we can share the shaver [clippers] between us daddies.”

Jason didn’t have the heart to tell him that when he grows up to be a daddy he’ll live in his own house with his own family. I, of course, am not-so-secretly hoping that he will live close enough to actually making sharing the clippers practical.

“Mommy, today I’m going to sing a different kind of song about Jonah. This is about Jonah takes a ride on the Catbus.”

On the way home last night, Simon wanted his window rolled down.

Jason: It’s too cold to roll the window down, buddy.

Simon: I am-n’t cold.

Jason: Be that as it may; you’re not the only one in the car.

Simon: Yes, I am! I am the only one in the car.

Jason: No, you’re not, buddy.

Simon: I am!

Jason: Okay, who is driving?

Simon: Me!

Jason: Simon, who are you talking to?

Simon: Nobody.

Jason: So we’re just figments of your imagination then?

Simon: I do!

We had to admit, the kid knows how to sell a story. We had to admire his consistency and clever redirect at the end there. (We also thought his denying our corporeal existence was a little creepy.)

For some time now I’ve been meaning to write about Simon’s obsession with guitars. It approaches (and occasionally even supersedes) his obsession with trains.

He pays careful attention to things like who has a guitar at their house and whose mommy or daddy knows how to play. Since we don’t have one at our house (yet!), he pretends one of the heating vents is a guitar and happily strums away, singing his original songs (usually about choochoos or Jonah).

Today, I finally got some Christmas shopping done. I wrapped one present for each of the boys and put them under the tree. To my great delight, Simon pulled his gift out and said he was going to pretend it was a guitar. When asked what he thought was actually inside the box, his response was, “I not know! It’s a present. Maybe it’s Scooby Dooby.” Well, maybe, kid, but I suspect you’re going to be one happy little dude on Christmas morning.