Recently, O. wanted to know whether when you change numbers after you have a birthday, you also get to change letters. "I am four now. Will I ever get to be 'B'?"
After a particularly perplexing stream of questions about why and how somethings worked that I had no idea about, I finally asked him whether he thought I knew everything. "Yes. Because you're my mom," he replied.
On our way out of dinner over the weekend (the place with the corn dogs, not to be confused with other favorite dining spots: the place with the chips and salsa, the place with cheese bread, or the place with the fish* we haven't been there in a while), O. put his arm around N. in the parking lot in a very protective, big brotherly type way. I commented that he sure knew how to take care of his little sister. In the car on the way home, I overheard this conversation between them. (they really do have conversations now: her side usually all facial expressions and exclamations of "Yah!" I love it.)
"N., you are my little sister. But when you are grown up, you will have to leave our house and go find your own children. But you can still come back to our house and visit us. And I'll always be your big brother."
*These are not fish to eat, oh no, not for my boy. They are fish swimming in a kind of gross indoor pond display. The reason we can't go here anymore is that it is a Chinese buffet, with presumably all sorts of nuts, eggs and soy lurking in all manner of unlabelled foods and a language barrier to boot.