Bedtime. Ten minutes in already…
Owen: Dada? Are butterflies warm-blooded? Actually, I don’t think they have any blood at all, just a sort of clear fluid. But I’m just guessing.
Me: Uh. I have no idea, Owen. I’ll have to check and get back to you. I don’t know, as I’ve never squished one.
Owen: AND DON’T. Don’t.
Me: I certainly promise.
Owen: Have you ever seen a crocodile?
Me: Yes.
Owen: Have you ever seen an alligator?
Me: Yes.
Owen: Have you ever petted one?
Me: Oh no. I’m sure he’d bite off my hand!
Owen: But what if he were tame?
Me: I don’t think there’s any such thing as a tame crocodile. They’re just too wild, and.. and… basic.
Owen: But what if one were owned by someone who knew a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot about them. Would it be ok then?
Me: Well, I suppose so, but I still don’t think there can be tame crocodiles Owen.
Owen: Dada. I’m just wondering.
Me: Ok Owen. Night, night. Don’t let the beddie bugs bite.
Owen: You always say that. We don’t have any bedbugs.
Me: What about you, aren’t you one?
Owen: <heavy with impatience> Dada!
Me: Night, night then.
Owen: Leave my door open a little bit?
Me: Ok, sure. I love you.
Owen: I love you too.