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Lately, I've been appreciating more-than-usual the verbal dance that happens during breakfast while I'm trying to consume as much coffee as possible. This morning -- with my wife at a Funky Fitness class (it's not really called that; that's just what I like to call it) -- I had a dawning. Over waffles and hard-boiled eggs, little Rocco and ChiChi LaRue engaged in a conversation with me that left me speechless -- and yet -- also strangely energized.

A few snippets of dialogue, with the thoughts (in italics) I can't bring myself to say out loud:

Rocco:  I had eight guppies and now there are three. But I think two were hiding and three were sleeping.
(This means more burials-at-sea).

ChiChi:  More milk!
(It's official:  We're upping the gallons to three in the refrigerator door now).

Rocco:  I like Mommy and Daddy's cereal better. It has more crunch.
(This reinforces my belief that if you want your kids to eat something, you better be eatin' it).

ChiChi:  Meow. Meow.
(Her pleas for a cat to share that milk with continue).

Rocco:  You know I have 20 teeth?
(He does?  That's a lot of teeth, isn't it? How many teeth do I have?).

ChiChi:  Ruff. Ruff.
(Do dogs eat milk?).

Rocco:  No, I counted again. I have 13 teeth.
(At this point, I actually launched into a teeth-counting escapade because I wasn't sure of how many any of us should have).

ChiChi:  Lips. Nose. Forehead. Lips. Nose. Forehead.
(Forehead's a new one; she's pretty proud of that one).

Rocco:  A hedgehog came in my room last night, but it was a shadow.
(Uh, wow... that's a relief).