Yes, I have another one about what comes out of my four year old's mouth.  Words, I mean.  Maybe it's because I don't have the radio on as much in the car, or perhaps it's because I ask him more questions these days, but whatever it is, he seems to be having more to say lately. 

    Today, we were driving home from school when he abruptly notified me that his three imaginary friends, Cody, Honcho, and Meije, have unfortunately passed away.  (To refresh yourself, or educate yourself on the three friends, read here.) 

    I was disturbed at this news not only for the obvious reason I don't know how to breach the subject of death with a four year old, but also because I liked those three little invisible dudes and was worried this was a legitimate end to their occupation within Ethan's life. 

    "No, say it isn't so.  I don't want them gone.  Bring them back, Ethan."  I played.

    "Nope.  I can't do that.  I'm not God.  I'm just a boy.  A boy who is not God.  God is in charge of things."

    It was, most certainly, profound.  I responded by saying, "Honey, if you remember that fact, even when you're an old man, you've won half the battle.  Because most people can't figure that one out at all."

Ethan has been opening his little mind to a world full of great big metaphors. 

The other day we had a particularly taxing day in the disciplinary arena.  When my husband finally got home, he asked Ethan if he had been a good boy for mommy.  To which Ethan replied, "No.  I was mean to her."

"How mean?"  Daddy asked.

"I broke her straw."  Ethan got close to his daddy and whispered, "She's really upset because she told me over and over again it was her last one."

I was sitting at my computer when I overheard the conversation and couldn't help but laugh.  It was the first time I had used the metaphor with Ethan...You've broken the last straw.

A few days later Ethan was jumping from the couch to the coffee table and back to the couch again.  I was doing the dishes and grinding my teeth when Ethan noticed me.

"Mommy, am I breaking your straw again?"

"Yes, Ethan, you are."

"Is it your last one?"

"No."

"Well, how many do you have left?"

I gaged my patience level and then assessed the intensity of a battle in direct correlation to the risk of a head injury and said, "I have four left."

"Oh, good!"  And, he kept jumping.  When he landed on the dog after the next jump he said, "I know, I know...three left."