A couple of short funnies from my short little funny one:
Jabber: Mom, whew! That rice milk sure crunched my thirst! It crunched it right up into bits!
Me: It crunched your thirst, huh? When I drink something and I'm really thirsty, I sometimes say that it quenched my thirst.
Jabber: Oh. Well, that's just silly.
A little later.
Jabber: Mom, are there other worlds, than ours?
Me: ... (I'm thinking, I'm thinking...what is he wondering? Is he looking to have a talk about heaven again, and if so, what should I tell him? Is he wondering about other worlds like in a fantasy book, like through the looking glass or Narnia or that wacky island of Sodor where trains talk to each other and make strange faces in elaborate miniature settings? Is he curious about alien life forms or simply taking an astronomical interest in, say, Jupiter?)
Jabber: MOM! I said are there any other worlds than this one?
Me: Well...like...what exactly are you wondering?
Jabber: Well, like there's Disney World, and...are there other worlds?
Jabber: Mom! (super excited, dancing in place) I've figured out who I'm going to marry!
Me: Ohhhh? Really?
Jabber: Yeah! Yeah! I'm going to marry Monkey! I love him so much, and we're going to get married, and I'm going to live with him until we die!
Me: Ohhhh? Really?
Jabber: Yeah, when we grow up, Monkey and I are getting married.
Me: Well. Usually people don't marry their brothers or sisters. Usually you marry someone who isn't related to you. If you get married, that is.
Jabber: (devastated) But I want to live with Monkey until we die! I just really really want to! (collapses into a puddle of tears and snot and such)
Me: Come here and hug me, you sweet thing.
Jabberwock really must be working out the difference between life and death lately. He speaks about dying very repetitively, and he's constantly asking questions about "when we die," and "is that like heaven," and when someone is late arriving (according to his measurements of time, anyway), he'll often say, "What if s/he died? I think s/he died."
A couple of weeks ago we were having a playdate (have I mentioned I hate that term; it makes me feel like a socially awkward teenager just typing it!), and the other boy asked me over a picnic lunch, "When did Jabberwock's sister die?"
The other mom looked really uncomforable until I said, "Jabber never had a sister, T. It's just him and Monkey."
Jabber insisted, though. "Yes I did!" he said with considerable passion. "I had a sister and she died. She was older than me." Then he adopted the nana-nana-boo-boo tone of voice and added, "She died before you were even born!" He didn't add the "So there!" but it was clearly implied.
Some of the talk is heartbreaking, like when he told me he hopes I die before his daddy, and some of it is light-hearted, like when he pretends that his toys die and then he brings them back to life. All of it reinforces the fact that the little imagination man is always thinking, always listening, always storing things away in that wonderful brain of his. Just waiting to drag them out at the next opportunity when Mama looks like she's not doing enough at the moment.