The way to a Jake's heart is through his stomach

A couple of Jake-isms to share with you, to keep you abreast of what he values in life.

Saturday we're climbing on the holly trees as usual. Those trees have the pokiest leaves imaginable, so I'm hanging out near Jacob, tearing off the smaller live branches that thrust their leaves right in climbing's way. I wrestle with one in front of Jake's face for a bit, finally leaving a pithy, imperfectly torn stub behind.

"Wass dat?" he wonders, and pokes at the fleshy-looking tree interior I've exposed. "Zat chicken?"

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This morning I decided we finally need to learn the real words to "Frere Jacques". Not because anyone in our house has a desperate desire to learn French, but because the boys learned the song in imperfect French from Tom and Jerry, and they won't shut up with singing an almost-perfect version of it. I look up the words online and teach them to Jake, who sits on my lap as I read the lyrics off the computer. "Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques .... can you sing it, Jacob?" But no sooner do I pass along the real words than Jacob spies an old (and full) snack container on the computer desk and makes up his own words.

Perfectly in tune, he sings, "Me want Goldfish, me want Goldfish..."