Me: picking a piece of lint off the laundry
K: What is that, Mommy?
Me: It's a fuzzy.
K: Sometimes fuzzies are nice, sometimes they're naughty.
Me: How do you know if a fuzzy is nice?
K: He smiles.
Overheard after dinner last night:
Boy: Clearing the table. Slowly and seriously: If it's called hot sauce. . . (long, thoughtful pause). . . why do we keep it in the fridge?