Our son eats a lot. This morning for breakfast he had one cup of Cheerios, a sausage patty, a whole navel orange, and an egg. I can't even eat that much and honestly, I don't know where he puts it. It's possible we may actually be raising a quarterback or an Olympic swimmer.
Usually he and I share our meals. He ends up eating most of the plate, but I like to think of him as my portion controller. This morning, while he was finishing up the last bites of orange and I was scraping what egg was left off the plate, things started getting less about "FOOOOOOOD!" and more like "Okay, Mom, I'm ready to socialize with you now that my belly is full."
And as I was licking my finger to sop up the remaining salt from the eggs, Adam says, as clear as a bell (which he does every now and then), "What is that?" I looked where he was pointing and it's at a painting Tom's grandmother made of a Native American woman hanging on the wall. I said, "It's a painting," and he seemed satisfied with that answer. Then he pointed to another painting in the room with ducks on it. He squawked "Hagh hagh!" (that's his duck noise) and I asked, "What is that?" thinking he'd tell me they're ducks or birds or something. He dropped his finger and looked at me, furrowing his brow like he does when he's thinking about something or confused (a little something from my genetic pool), and says, very matter-of-factly, "Painting."
What a Smart Alec.