In the middle of munching on corn-on-the-cob, hot dogs, and mixed fruit, Henry pondered.
Henry: Mommy, what's barf mean?
Me: It means throw up. Why?
Henry: I don't know.
Me: Who said it?
Henry: No one.
A couple minutes of silence passed. Then...
Henry: Mommy, are these corn guts?
Henry: These! Are these corn guts??! (He points to the half-chewed kernels still clinging to the cob.)
Me: Ummm. Yeah. No. I don't know. Why?
Henry: Yummmy guts.
This is the kind of stuff we, as parents of the H-Man, deal with on a daily basis. Life's just a series of questions. We, as parents, are his own personal Google. You think we're kidding? Just ask our friends Ted and Anne who served as our hosts during a 4th of July weekend in Indiana. The stuff H comes up with...no one could make it up. In fact, Anne started writing things down. I'm sure it'll be some of what we torture him with when he's older.