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.