I just finished putting away a load of laundry, and returned to the kitchen to find a naked toddler standing in the middle of the kitchen table.

"Are you a rocket, Mama? Are you a flying pig?"

I didn't know how to answer that.

Yesterday, we picked up a pretend medical kit at Target. The kids spent most of the evening yesterday using the stethescope and fighting over the "Dr. Feelgood" nametag. Oh, the plans I have for the "Dr. Feelgood" nametag...

My oldest said, "Dr. Lauck sounds kind of snappy, doesn't it?" I guess it does.

Later, at dinner, the same six year old kid announced: "I just can't ever get enough barbecued chicken. I've tried, and I just can't."

Meanwhile, across the table, my five year old son took a bite of the garlic bread. "Ooh! It's burning my mouth! Spicerooni!" he yelped while swigging orange juice. "It is hot?" I asked. "It's the goodness of the garlic burning your intentions out. The orange juice is goodness too," explained my six year old, while my son nodded soberly as if this made perfect sense to him.

I've also just noticed a sign on the wall outside the little kids' bedroom - it was obviously made by my son, requesting that girls sign in before entering. My three year old trotted up to the sign and demanded to know if the sign is in hieroglyphics. I stammered for a minute and she put her hand on her hip and said "Whattdya think this is, ancient Egypt?"

But what do I know? I'm just a rocket, a flying pig.