Last night I was trying to get my older son to sleep. As a rubbed his back, he informed me that Grandma was going to pick him up from the dayhome the next day.
Me: But sweetie, Grandma's far, far, far away.
(Snow-birding in New Zealand to be precise.)
Son: Yes, she's in the mountains, looking at snakes.
Me: Looking at snakes, really?
Son: Yes, but the snakes are going to eat her.
Me: But won't Dido help her?
(FYI, Dido (and variations) is Ukrainian for grandfather.)
Son: Yes, Dido will save her. Dido has wings. Like Buzz Lightyear. And Parp.
Me: Parp? You mean Warp?
(Sorry, no link that doesn't have to do with nuclear physics. Just trust me on this one.)
Son: Yes, Horp.
Son: Yes, Warp.
So, today I e-mailed my dad and asked him how long has he had wings, and why did he never tell us? Really, I'm feeling a little put out by this.