Out of the mouth of my babe

A few things Biscuit has said recently:

Different isn't always good: Jeff and Biscuit ran some errands this evening, including a trip to a bookstore. In the children's area, there was a train table, but it didn't have any trains or anything else to go on it.

Not long after that, another little kid and his dad walked by the spot where the toys used to be.

Jeff said the boys has an oddly grown-up conversation about the situation.

"There doesn't seem to be any trains here," the boy said.

"I know! That's EXACTLY what I said," Biscuit said with his hands raised and with much exasperation.


A little perspective: Biscuit loves the paper placemats he gets at a lot of restaurants. One evening recently, he had finished the games and mazes on the front side and turned it over to draw on the blank back side.

Biscuit has art once a week, and I can always tell when he's learned a new term or technique.

I'll just be very blunt and say that Biscuit is not an artist. He likes to draw, but I still have to get hints as to what it is that he has drawn.

The teachers encourage the kids to add details to their drawings. If they have to draw a dog, they're encouraged to draw a house and some grass and a ball or a bone ... details.

Biscuit's picture that evening was an under-the-ocean scene. It had a shark, some fish, a star fish, some seaweed and a few other things that I didn't recognize.

Then he started drawing a vehicle. It took me a few questions, but I found out it was a submarine. The submarine was way smaller than the fish around it, but then I found out why.

"Mom, do you know why the submarine is so small?" Biscuit asked.

"Why?" I asked.


"Because it's far away," Biscuit said. "And that's called perspective. ... I really know a lot about art."

"You sure do," I said.


That hurts: We were ready to eat dinner the other night when Biscuit came walking into the kitchen rubbing his belly.

"Mom, I'm just not sure if I can eat dinner," Biscuit said.

"Why not? What's wrong?" I asked, thinking he might be sick.

"Well, when we were outside playing today, this girl kicked me right in my digester," he said.

"Someone kicked you?" I said, not sure whether to be mad that someone kicked him or confused by what the heck his digester is. "Did you tell someone?"

"Yes," Biscuit said. "I cried a little bit because it really hurt. She had to go sit on the bench near the door, and I had to go sit on a different bench until I was feeling better."

"So tell me again where she kicked you," I said.

"You know, right here, in my digester," he said rubbing his belly again. "Right where my body digests my food."

"OH! Your digester," I said. "There are actually several parts in your belly that help digest your food, but I know exactly the area you're talking about."