Caleb and Eli seek me out, each carrying a little plastic hatchet. “We’re looking for the turkey,” says Caleb.
“Thanksgiving’s over.”
“No, the little turkey that goes in the play barn.”
“Oh. I don’t know where it is.”
“Well, have you sawn it?”
“No.”
“No, Caleb, have you seen it. You said ‘sawn.'”
Caleb walks away, still looking for the little turkey, though from where I sit I can see two of them, each carrying a little plastic hatchet.
“Caleb, you said ‘sawn.'”
“I know,” he replies with an irritated tone. Don’t know where he learned that.
“Caleb, be polite. Say: ‘thank you, little brother, for correcting me.'”
“Thank you little brother for correcting me.”
“Dad, I’m not little.”
Little turkeys.
