XYZ

It seems my constant readers are vocal. "A poll and a quote?! No kid stories, no politics to snark at would you post already?!" Sorry, the Verbalist is settling into kindergarten and morning life is settling into a new silent routine.

The Muralist has been painting with grand enthusiasm and pining after the floam that sits in the cupboard. Floam is darn near impossible to extract from fabric. When paint is the lesser of two evils, well...

The Verbalist has been very excited to expand his spelled vocabulary. He can identify letters and can spell some, write better and is putting together phonic sounds. He isn't quite there yet, but I predict it will not be long before some parental circumlocutions become stymied by his burgeoning abilities.

He came up and tugged at my shirt the other day as I was working in the kitchen.

"Mom," he said employing that contrived blase tone he uses when something is very important to him. "I think it would be most superb if you were to serve some of that X-Y-Z food for dinner."

I stared blankly. XYZ food? What is he talking about. I queried. He chuckled carelessly.

"You and Dad talk about it and then you always give us something real good. The XYZ food. You know."

Enlightenment dawned. "Are you talking about pizza?" I ask; realizing that my dear husband and I almost always spell P-I-Z-Z-A so as not to send the tots into raptures if we decide against it as our dinner option.

"Yes!" he exclaimed happily. "I know it has lots of Z's in it."