Big and I were snuggling and hanging out yesterday afternoon when we had this conversation:
Big: "I want to change my hair."
Me: "What do you mean by 'change'? You want to get it cut?"
Big: "No, I want to make it a different color. I want it to look like yours."
Me: "Why would you want to dye your hair to be dark like mine? I think your hair is a really nice color."
Big: "Yeah. It's the same as your teeth." (as he reaches out and pokes one of my front teeth with his finger)
Then, this morning while we were out weeding along the front walk Big issued me a warning:
"Now, don't go out in the road and get squashed by a gardening truck, Mom, because then you'd be dead and I wouldn't want to play with you anymore."
I guess he thinks playing with the dead is boring. He's probably right about that.