Miles requested Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer tonight as his Saturday night video.
We own it. We watch it every couple of months.

I happened by the TV when Hermey was just about to get canned for failing to meet productivity standards.

What's happening? I asked Miles.

"The big elf, the teacher, said 'Finish the toys or you're on fire!' "

"Oh," I corrected, "You're fired."

What means fired? Miles asked. I told him it meant it was time for Hermey to find a job he likes. Perhaps he'd be happier as a dentist, I suggested.

"A dancer," Miles corrected me. "Hermey wants to be a dancer."

Multiple One Liners

"I am soaking hot."
We are at day seven of 100% humidity.

"Can we have brownies for zert?"
My New York accent has trained his ear to hear da Zert (like da Bronx) instead of dessert.

"God doesn't live in Maine. Maybe in Connecticut and Vermont."
We don't get very far with God conversations. He's not buying my bumbling explanations about divinity.

"Maybe I can make a letter to Drammie that says I love you, you died."
Conversations about dead grandparents, aunts, and pets arise weekly now that he's four.

"Can I feel your boobs one more time?"
I can't dignify this one. But twice this week I've had to remove Miles's hand from the front of my shirt.