And in his cutest little manly-voice he asked "Hey mom, what's this, a pretzel tree?"
Oh, and in my head I'm just squeemishly in love with the little person that he is, knowing exactly why I didn't stop at just five kids. But without skipping a beat, I answer "No, it's called a forsythia bush. But the buds haven't come out yet."
And he says "Why? Do they eat it?" And I ask "Who?" And he says "The bugs."
Clever lad. What bugs wouldn't love snacking on a handy pretzel bush?
And then we're parking his bike in the garage and it occurs to me to ask about the fate of the worm he rescued while I was fending off frostbite. "Hey Pal," I said, "where did you put that worm you were saving?" And he points to the hole (where there used to be a screw and a nut) in the cross bar of his bike, and says "He's in there."