Paco knows that he can't come into our room (or snuggle in bed with us) until 7 am. And, to his credit, he's getting better at knowing the difference between the hour 7 and whenever he sees a "7" on the clock, as in 5:17.
So, he comes in on Sunday morning and says, "It is 7 o'clock!"
And he's right. He says:
"I want my breakfast, please!"
"Hold on," I respond, "let me get my bearings."
"Why do you need that?" he asks.
The nameless one and I can't help but laugh, so Monday AM, in an instant replay of Sunday, I figure I'll try it again.
"Let me get my bearings."
And, witty as ever, the boy responds,
"where do you think they are?"
I start laughing. He continues to prod for his breakfast.
"Hang on, I have to get my bearings," seeing how many times the joke will go on.
He walks over to the sink in the bathroom and yells,
"I FOUND THEM. THEY ARE OVER HERE!!"
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