Attempts to say "Garbage Truck". Yesterday was garbage day and Baby was in the boys' room playing. Kid was at the breakfast table. The garbage truck arrives, to which we routinely make a big fuss, yell "Garbage truck, garbage truck!" and open the front door and watch in awe at the glory of the oh-so-sacred garbage truck (obviously I am not too impressed, but my children stand astounded). This one, comes darting from his room, full-well knowing what and where the garbage truck was. It kind of took me back. Occasionally I forget that they do, in fact, understand much more than we take them for.

Today is Tuesday, which happens to be garbage day at the neighborhood park we meet at. As the garbage truck pulled around, Everett slid out of my lap via-limp noodle style, got on all fours and booked it to the curb squealing "Gaba duh Gaba duh". Highly advanced? Very likely. Oh, and it's confirmed that the puddles of drool and wicked nappy rash were the main contribution to a teething boy. I found a nice little molar on the top of his mouth today.