How To Raise a Parrot, or In Which the Socratic Method Will Come Back to Bite You

Approximately 27 times per day I have to remind Harper that she is not Hudson's mommy. I will overhear her, especially at mealtimes, giving him all sorts of useful instruction. Some examples:

--"Hudson, you are not a bear, you are a BOY. Now, eat your yogurt with your spoon." (he is going through a highly experimental phase and small fist squishing around in yogurt container has proved a very pleasant sensory experience, apparently.)

and,

--"Hudson, let's NOT talk about poo-poo at the table." (this one was said with such familiar inflection--as though she has actually heard this exact statement before. I can't imagine where.)

Hudson receives these sisterly admonishments with the appropriate amount of indifference. Sometimes he will say, "No sir! No thanks!" which is, incidentally also his favorite response to the suggestion that it might be time to change his diaper or go take a nap when he isn't quite finished lining up his cars.

Yesterday in the car we were listening to an old Jars of Clay cd and there's this song that has this weird noise going on in the background. We've speculated before--is it a squeaky screen door? a cicada? a scratch on the cd? We aren't sure. Anyway, Harper said to me, "Mommy, what insect do you think it is on this song?" I gave her my standard response, 'What do YOU think it sounds like?" And do you know what she said? She said, "YOU tell ME." So there.

We've been to the park every morning this week, and boy, it is summer in Houston.
In some other exciting news, we are officially moving in a few weeks. We are saying good-bye at last to apartment living and are renting a house! With a yard! And sidewalks! And a porch swing! My main challenge over the next couple of weeks is getting rid of the unnecessary. The house, for all of its merits, has tiny closets. I am simultaneously excited to winnow, and petrified at the thought of actually getting started.