In The Eye of the Beholder

So the boys got this book at Ben's baptism from one of his godfathers:











It's a cute book where you do a "find Waldo" type of thing with Jesus. This book is singlehandedly responsible for A. comparing himself to Jesus each time he puts on sandals.

Anyway, the book tells little stories with little pictures and you have to find the pictures in the bigger illustration. A. looked at this page last night and, and, after finding the guy with the water jug, said, "OK, now let's find the clown."



















In semi-but-not-really related events, we had two neighborhood kids over the other evening. It wasn't planned, but they wandered in and it was easier to let them stay than to tell them to leave. We happen to have this print on our living room wall:



















We were just moving into our house together and it was the only print we both immediately liked, so of course it's the one we bought. Anyway, neighbor kid (let's call him Miguel) said, "What are those things?" I hoped he was pointing at all the other things on our mantel just below the print, but, no, he was pointing to her breasts. "Are those kids?"

I found it hard to believe he was 8 and didn't know what those things were, but I did not want to be the lady across the street who introduced him to the parts of the female anatomy. He'd mentioned earlier incredulously that I was a "nice grownup" ("How come you're a nice grownup? I don't get it") but I'm not that nice.

He rescued me himself by saying, "They look like rocks."

I quickly replied, "Yes they do 'cause they're gray. Let's go into the family room." And the breasts were forgotten as soon as the train table appeared. Thank God for TTFTE (Thomas the F-ing Tank Engine, in case you're not up on your acronyms).