"Here's your pock-shit," Miles sang to me this morning, handing me an oversized Lego-like red block from his push truck. He handed a yellow one to his brother.

I considered Miles's word for a long time.

"Pock-shits," he tried to explain. "You know, like at the post office, or from the big brown trucks.... Where we get our pock-shits."

Packages! The UPS truck description saved me. Thank God our genius son can read. (See post from 4/13/07.)