One extreme to the other

Sometimes it seems like my Biscuit baby goes from being an 85-year-old man to a 9-year-old in no time at all.

Last night was a good example.

Biscuit said, "Mom, when I'm in a troublesome mood, I just go to my happy place."

My first thought was, "How often do you have troublesome moods," but I went along with him.

"What is your happy place?" I asked him.

"Well, it's like a jungle," he said, "and it has a stream running through it, and a friendly tiger comes up to talk to me. It's filled with many wonders."

Troublesome moods?! Many wonders?! Yep. That's the 85-year-old.

Less than an hour later, the 9-year-old part of him kicks in.

"Mom," he said, "you won't believe this."

"What?" I asked him. I was a little hesitant to hear what he had to say because he had a mischievous look on his face.

"When I was riding my scooter this afternoon, for a little while, every time I would put my foot down to push off, I would fart," he said, laughing.

"Why do you think I want to know about your farts?" I asked him.

"It wasn't just about the farts, Mom," he said. "It was how I used the farts. It was like I was using jet propulsion."