Kian: Mommy, I have a fire hat on. I am a fire chief, see?
Me: I do see. That's neat.
Kian: I am not on a firetruck. Understand, mommy? I am just a fire man, not on a firetruck.
Me: Yes, I understand.
Kian: My sneakers are dirty.
Me: No, they are not. They're new and they're clean.
Kian: But, they will get dirty and I will need new ones. I will need Skechers.
Me: You will need what?
Kian: Skechers. Sneakers are skechers.
Me: I know what Skechers are, how do you know what Skechers are?
Kian: They are on tv; the girl said they are cool.
Me: Oh brother. You maybe watch a half an hour a day, how did you manage to see all that?
(driving on our freshly oiled and stoned road)
Me-under my breath: ugh, why do they put this crud on here?
Kian: They put bread on the road?
Me: No, they put oil and tar and stones, and the stones are flying up everywhere and sticking to the car and hitting the car. No bread, I called the stones crud.
-The following day on the way to the library, on the same road-
Kian: Are we driving on the bread and oil and stones?
Me: Bread? Why would there be bread on the road? ooooh, you think I said bread instead of crud the other day? Crud is junk, garbage stuff.
Kian: We have crud in our garage.
Me: I suppose we do...