Chickenpants, chickenpants, chickenpants, hold my hand...

Two nights ago my husband had to put a band aid on his finger. After putting the band aid on he said, "you know, the reason I don't want to wear this has nothing to do with the fact that it's a Toy Story band aid, but it's because I know that the first question I'm going to get tomorrow morning is 'Wha happened, Daddy? Why you wearin' a bundaid?'" Well, sure enough he was dead-on. The morning started with the ever so familiar, "Mommy! Daddy! Mommy! Daddy! I'm awake! Please come get me, we go downstairs!" Halfway down the stairs the interrogation started. "Daddy, wha happened? Why you wearin' a bundaid?" The things that he notices and gets hung up on are just so funny.

Cut to this morning. Jack had gotten up about an hour earlier with my husband. I came downstairs wearing a new pair of pajama pants that happen to have chickens on them. "Hi Momm- what aaye you wearin'? Why you have chickens on you?" For the next 30 minutes we talked about why chickens are on my pants, whether they were real chickens or not, what color the chickens were, whether or not the dogs on the pants were eggs or not, etc., etc., etc.," Who knew that chickenpants could be such a rich topic of conversation.